


Sinners

by lettersinpetals



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming of Age, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Drama, Filipino culture, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Religion, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Violinist Sakusa Kiyoomi, mentions of bullying, set in the Philippines, they're so gay like so very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28236120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersinpetals/pseuds/lettersinpetals
Summary: When they were younger, they used to bully Kiyoomi. They would tug on his hair, snatch up his new things and pass it around, sometimes even trip him.When they grew up, and Kiyoomi started gaining height, their bullying shifted to that of ‘harmless teasing.’ They would always make seemingly friendly jabs, but Kiyoomi always heard the malice in their tones. They were never ‘half-joking.’ They meant it.He hated them all.And he hated Atsumu Miya most of all.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 69
Kudos: 531
Collections: HQ Filo Week Fic Collection, Well Written and Book Worthy, haikyuu fics that drive me wild ugh





	Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for HQ Filo Week Day 3: Filipino Families & Neighborhoods.
> 
> If you’ve been following me on Twitter since like...July, this was the "21k word draft" I buried months and months ago, before Filo Week even existed, before I even thought to write Stick With You. I wrote this after a strangely vivid dream I had one afternoon — I was back in my provincial hometown and the events were so dramatic but so real. Naturally, I had to write something like it, inventing a whole ass storyline based on true stories of true people, including myself.
> 
> This is set in my tiny, tiny hometown and EVERYTHING is modeled from my childhood, from the rooms in the house, to the school, to the people, and even the events.
> 
> This won’t be for everyone — SakuAtsu are Filipinos here, which changes EVERYTHING. They’re different people. And while it will all be written in English, this is very, very Pinoy. When I was writing this, I wanted it to have all the energy of a teleserye, dramatics and all. THIS IS FULL ON DRAMA. HIGH SCHOOL DRAMA, BUT STILL DRAMA. Lots of Filo pop culture references, too.
> 
> I hate and love this a lot, but I hope you like it. Keep in mind, the year is 2014, setting is the Philippines, and Omi is an only child here. Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

Kiyoomi ran his fingers through his newly shortened hair, his stubborn curly fringe falling on the left side of his forehead. He had finally allowed his mother to change his style after years of holding on to his longer locks out of sentimentality. The memory of his late grandmother brushing his hair every night was difficult to let go of, but his mother was right — he looked like a mop. And it was getting too hard to maintain.

He put his thick-framed glasses on and studied his reflection in his grandmother’s old dresser. He didn’t recognize himself. He had shot up over the summer, to his mother’s pleasure, and he had taken up yoga for something to do over the break — the baby fat that kept his face round had melted to make way for his cheekbones and jaw, and his shoulders broadened. He looked different. They had to drive almost an hour to the nearest city to get him new uniforms, new clothes, new shoes, new everything.

But he felt like the same person anyway — nobody particularly special, just a ship passing quietly in the night.

 _Well, this is the best it’s going to get_ , he thought. Time to face the music: the first day of senior high school.

He prayed to whatever saint was listening that he not embarrass himself and his family name yet again.

“You look handsome, baby,” his mother said, studying him from the entrance of his vanity room.

“Ma,” he complained. “Just yesterday you told me I got a shade darker in the summer and that I’ve ruined my skin.”

His mother waved her hand dismissively. “I was clearly wrong, you look fine today. Your skin is perfect. All the girls will be tripping for your attention, I’m calling it now. Got an eye on anyone you want to court? Don’t forget to introduce her to us before anything else. We have to see if she’s worth you first.”

Kiyoomi took a breath and tried not to let his irritation show. His mother was so old-fashioned, but in this small town, everyone was. He was honestly over it. He followed customs and traditions, sure, but most days he felt suffocated. Their world was so small.

There was also the problematic fact that he was gay, and has not told any of his family. Not only will they never accept it — the dreaded rumor mill was also truly terrifying.

Being the talk of the town that had a population of 100,000 was decidedly not fun. They must never know that the youngest Sakusa was a homosexual and had no plans on furthering the bloodline.

“I have to go,” he told his mother. “Who’s driving me to school today?”

“Your uncle is. He’s taking the pick up. Go on, now. Give your Mama a kiss before you go.”

He resisted wrinkling his nose in distaste. He hated Uncle Jong, with his sanctimonious attitude and tendency to spew out Bible verses, when everyone knew he was cheating on his wife, Hanna. But he couldn’t exactly say that. Instead, he obeyed, bending down to kiss his mother on the cheek, before making his way out the door.

First day of school. What could go wrong?

\--

The moment he stepped into class, he felt everyone’s eyes on him. He braced himself for the ‘What, you got taller _again_?’ but there was nothing. He decided to ignore the sudden silence and stalked straight to his seat — because his surname was Sakusa, he was assigned to the back row. Once he sat, he brought out his planner and pens, and started scribbling on his calendar. He had to fix his after-school schedules, balance study hours with his extracurriculars.

Rintarou Suna, who was making his way to his seat near Kiyoomi, paused beside him. He cleared his throat. Kiyoomi didn’t bother looking up.

Suna cleared his throat louder. Kiyoomi lifted his chin and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yo, Sakusa, nice haircut,” Suna said in a friendly tone.

Kiyoomi looked back down at his notebook and started writing again. “I am neither interested nor validated by your opinion, Suna,” he said coolly.

“Sheesh. Just saying.”

Yeah, just like he once said Kiyoomi had eyebrows so expressive they were the only ones that gave away the fact that he was human. He had laughed while saying that. Kiyoomi had ignored him entirely.

He tried not to take it personally, he did. In school, everyone had a role to play. And in their school, this is doubly true, because it’s so small that each year only has two classes, from Grade 1 to Grade 12. Sixty people per level. Twelve levels. Seven hundred and twenty students. In the high school building — three hundred and sixty students, specifically.

Everyone knew everyone.

And everyone knew Kiyoomi Sakusa, the hardass snob who was “probably gay.” It was true, of course, but their only basis was Kiyoomi’s admittedly fastidious tendencies and that time he refused to kiss a girl who approached him on a dare. That earned him the title of “cold fish.” He unfortunately took the brunt of the judgement being “the gay kid,” nevermind that he never confirmed the rumors — years later when other gay kids would come out, they were treated with more tolerance. Kiyoomi liked to think he walked so they could run. But most likely, they simply did not like him, and took any excuse to make fun of him.

To make it worse, he’d always been at the top of every class since he was in Grade 5. Add “nerd” to his list of qualities.

Naturally, they’d ostracized him. But if he did less than perfect in his academics, his mother would give him the cold shoulder. He couldn’t win.

These were the people he’d grown up with. Most of them had been classmates since they were in first grade, although newbies sometimes came in randomly. Every once in a while, someone would leave.

When they were younger, they used to bully Kiyoomi. They would tug on his hair, snatch up his new things and pass it around, sometimes even trip him.

When they grew up, and Kiyoomi started gaining height, their bullying shifted to that of ‘harmless teasing.’ They would always make seemingly friendly jabs, but Kiyoomi always heard the malice in their tones. They were never ‘half-joking.’ They meant it.

He hated them all.

And he hated Atsumu Miya most of all.

The same Atsumu Miya who has now turned on his seat in front of Kiyoomi to study him. He could feel his gaze boring into his head.

“Seriously, though, nice haircut,” Atsumu said genially. “We can finally see your face.”

He ignored him, too.

“You should learn to take a compliment,” Atsumu tried again.

Keeping his temper in check, he pretended not to hear.

The Miya twins had shaken their tiny world when they transferred in at the beginning of first year high school. They were propelled to the top of the food chain at first sight — they were undeniably handsome and effortlessly cool, but most importantly, they were _new_. New to the school, new to the town. They were exotic, fresh from the capital. Almost otherworldly.

And yet they fit right in. Everyone liked them, even the teachers, despite them being chaotic troublemakers. That was the extent of their charm.

To his utter shame, Kiyoomi had actually almost immediately developed a crush on Atsumu — he was the more outgoing one, the louder one, totally difficult to ignore. He was the one he noticed first, the one _everybody_ noticed first. But whatever attraction was doused the moment Atsumu invited him to hang out, acting cocky and sure, like of course Kiyoomi would jump at the chance to be his friend. And when he politely refused — he didn’t do _friends_ _—_ Atsumu had pouted and stalked off.

Kiyoomi had brushed off the incident, thinking he’d probably just wanted to mess with the quiet kid. The next day, he tripped Kiyoomi in the hallway and laughed loudly when he dropped his books. All the loitering students who were busy admiring Atsumu before classes started had laughed too. He hadn’t felt so singled out in a while.

He’d ignored Atsumu’s existence since then, refusing to let his teasing jabs land. But damn it, some of his remarks were too close to home. He wasn’t immune. He vowed to hate Atsumu Miya for as long as he lived.

Privately, he thought the twin Osamu wasn’t that bad, but he hated him due to association, as well as their friends, Suna and Aran Ojiro. Their other friend, Shinsuke Kita, was the best of them — he was on the student council _and_ the school paper with Kiyoomi. But still, he avoided him outside of extracurricular matters.

The teacher arrived and just like that, another school year began — his last one in high school. Kiyoomi couldn’t wait until it was over, and he could leave everything behind.

**Chapter 2**

The thing is, he was used to stares. At 18, he’s had his own share of them. Having grown up carrying a big name in a small town, he was often the subject of judgment.

At first it was things like, “Oh, Sachi, is this your son? He looks like a good boy,” to which his mother would reply, “Of course, he was brought up with breeding.” When he hit 13, it turned into “Oh dear, that acne is nasty, you should do something about that,” and “You finally got braces, that’s wonderful, that crooked tooth was rather off-putting.”

And when he was 16, it was often, “Are you...gay?” The tone in which it was uttered had upset him at first, but then his mother overheard the question when they were in the market and she snapped, “Of course he’s not gay! Go away, Linda!”

Telling someone to ‘ _go away_ ’ is too much to ask from the traditional, conservative families in the sleepy town the Sakusa family helped found decades ago. But far be it for him to tell that to his mother, who had given birth to him out of wedlock at 21 years old. She had been vilified and lived to tell the tale. Now she utterly refused to involve herself with them, which was why she sent him to a school located towns away. People either called her ' _demonyita_ ', or praised her “timeless beauty.”

The fickleness of people makes him shake his head sometimes.

And that was just the nosy townsfolk. School was a different problem entirely.

Case in point — he was _sure_ people were messing with him. Again. Because it wasn’t just his classmates who were staring. It was the whole damn school. Did he step on shit without realizing again? That would just be his luck.

He asked his cousin Motoya Komori and his childhood friend Wakatoshi Ushijima when they met for lunch.

“Is it just me, or are people staring at me?” he asked. “I’ve been on edge since this morning.”

It was only the first day of the new school year — his last year of high school — and it was already crappy. It’s been the same shit since puberty started. Just a different day.

“How do I say this…” Motoya mused.

“You look different,” Wakatoshi said.

He nudged his thick-framed glasses further up his nose. “I had a haircut,” he explained.

“You also shot up over the summer, somehow gained a bit of muscle and got rid of all the baby fat, and got a pair of glasses that doesn’t look like it belonged on an old man.”

“My old pair broke. Again.” And his vision got worse. “And I took up yoga and started swimming more, you know this.”

“We’re saying you’re hot now,” Motoya said, exasperated. “People haven’t seen you at all during the two-month summer break, they’re in shock.”

He mulled over the words, frowning. That’s it? He finally passed their standards after 11 years of going to school with them? Now they were admiring him after picking on him the entirety of his teenage years? No thanks. “I don’t know what to do with that information.”

“Just ignore them,” Wakatoshi advised.

“Sounds like a plan.”

But it looked like people weren’t just going to let him follow said plan.

“Hey, Kiyoomi,” Shinsuke called out. Kiyoomi turned around at the unexpected voice. “Mind if I sit with you for lunch today? I have some ideas for the paper and was hoping to brainstorm, if you’re up for it.”

Kiyoomi shrugged. He really did like Shinsuke. “Sure.”

Shinsuke sat down, lightly chattering about his summer break. He’d spent most of it with his clique, which unfortunately included the Miya twins, and he had to hear about how Atsumu nearly cracked his head open when he dived into the shallow part of a swimming pool.

What an idiot.

When they finally tapped on the topic of the paper, Shinsuke was only able to let out a “So I was thinking —” before trays clattered onto their table and Atsumu, Osamu, Suna, and Aran took a seat.

He stared at them before giving Shinsuke an accusing glare.

Shinsuke held his hands up, “I swear I didn’t invite them, I’m sorry —”

“Now, now, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu said. “Don’t be mean, now. We go where Shin goes, right, Shin?”

Kiyoomi started returning his food to his tray, with every intention to eat outdoors for some peace, but Shinsuke hurriedly said, “No, wait, please! I’d really like your opinions on these topics. It’s just for an hour, just tolerate them for an hour. Please!”

Kiyoomi took a deep breath and stopped. “Fine. But they say one shitty thing and I’m leaving.”

“They’ll behave,” Shinsuke said firmly. He glared at his friends. “Won’t you?”

There were chimes of “Yes, sir,” and Shinsuke looked at Kiyoomi earnestly. “I promise, they’re not that bad. They just put their foot in their mouth sometimes, but they’re good people.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. What were your ideas?”

The tossed ideas back and forth — Shinsuke already had a calendar planned all the way until Christmas, and it was only June. Although to be fair, Christmas preparations started the moment the “Ber months” arrived. It was a big deal, they needed to be ready for that.

“I can write a Simbang Gabi story if you want,” Kiyoomi volunteered. “I’ll be going with my family.”

“Great!” Shinsuke said. “I personally don’t go to that.”

Simbang Gabi was an annual tradition in which devotees attend mass before dawn for nine days in a row, the last one being held on Christmas Eve. Kiyoomi secretly hated everything about it, but he had no choice. The entire Sakusa clan was religious. If he ever said he couldn’t stand masses, they would literally call in their pastor friend, stand in a circle, and pray over him.

He wished he was kidding.

“Seriously?” Atsumu suddenly snorted, amused. “You believe in that shit? Attend all nine, and your wish comes true? It’s all a load of crap, if you want something you gotta work for it yourself. You can’t just be sitting there waiting for something to happen.”

Suna sighed, “Tsumu —”

But the damage was done. Kiyoomi was incensed, the words setting off something in him. Coldly, he asked, “Is there anything about me that says I don’t work hard for the things I want? Do I look like I’m the type to leave it all to God?”

“Well,” Atsumu said, drawing out the word. “Maybe not, but you’re a stickler for rules, aren’t you? Even religious rules. I should have known, you really are a goody two shoes, aren’t ya?”

Kiyoomi looked at him, frowning, truly baffled. “And what’s wrong with that? Anything worth doing is worth doing right, isn’t it? If I want to do things right, what’s wrong with that?” _Why do people keep making fun of me for that?_

Atsumu stared at him for a moment. “Nothing...guess I just want to see you do something you want for a change. Remove that stick out of your ass and live a little, you know? You’re too young to be this stuck up! We’re only 18 once!”

He didn’t appreciate being told that the way he was living his life was in any way wrong. Anger flared in his chest. “Just because _you_ can’t follow a rule, or do anything right at least once in your life.”

“At least I _have_ a life, instead of a boring existence that I pretend I’m okay staying in, and ugly glasses I hide behind in.”

He didn’t know why he did it. But next thing he knew, he was gripping the bowl of dinuguan and was pouring the black, thick soup on top of Atsumu’s head.

There were gasps and choked laughter in their table, and then a shocked pause. Atsumu’s mouth was open and he wasn’t moving. The thick liquid from Atsumu’s dark hair, down his cheek and onto his crisp white polo.

“Kiyoomi —!” Shinuske began, appalled.

He ignored him. He stood up and grabbed Atsumu by the neck of his uniform, dragging him close and leaning over him.

Slowly, he said, “You have been pissing me off since day one, so I’ll tell you what I want, Miya. I _want_ to graduate as valedictorian in this shitty school, and I want to get out of this shitty town and get away from my _shitty_ family, and then one day, I will get out of this shitty _country_ and move to a place nobody knows my name. And I won’t let any of these small-brained people get in my way. I don’t give a _fuck_ what you think or say. So _eat shit and die_.”

He walked out the canteen with his chin high, ignoring the ringing silence. He had never felt so satisfied.

\--

“I cannot _believe_ you poured dinuguan on Atsumu Miya,” Motoya said, sprawling on Kiyoomi’s bed uninvited.

“Don’t tell my mother,” he answered. She would probably faint and force him to go to a confessional.

Wakatoshi settled on the floor and booted up the PlayStation. “I am shocked, as well.”

“He just pissed me off, and I snapped. He had it coming.”

“Is it weird that I’m proud of you?” Motoya mused. “You’ve never done anything like this before. But if anyone was going to make you snap, it would be that jerk.”

“He seems to hate me,” Wakatoshi said.

“I have never met such an unpleasant human being,” Kiyoomi said derisively.

“He’s nice to the people who like him, and the people he needs things from,” Motoya said. “Other than that, he’s a fake ass. But people just ignore his crappy personality because he’s good-looking.” He sounded bitter about that.

Kiyoomi sighed and sat down beside Wakatoshi on the floor. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore, I’ve already wasted too much energy on him today. I just want to forget all about it.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Motoya said. “You’re already the talk of the whole school. You’re lucky he didn’t report you to Guidance.”

Kiyoomi snorted. “The nerve he’d have to have to do that, when he’d gotten away with worse.”

He thought of the many times Atsumu had been caught making out with girls _and_ boys — yes, Atsumu was apparently bisexual. Instead of the smirks and jeers Kiyoomi got when he was younger, Atsumu got support and sympathy. He always got away with his trysts with just a slap on the wrist.

It was all unfair. But Kiyoomi was used to it.

His experiences were simply the nuances of growing up in a small town. Atsumu, who had grown up in the big city and mostly lived an unproblematic life, would never understand.

\--

That night, as he got himself ready for bed, he studied himself in the mirror and wondered if he should get contacts.

Then anger shot up in him and he asked himself why he gave a shit about what Atsumu Miya thought.

After all, this was hardly their first _incident_ in the past five years they’ve known each other.

Atsumu was like an annoying fly that kept buzzing in and out and around Kiyoomi’s orbit. He’d always been _there_ — he was difficult to ignore especially since he unfortunately seemed to only get more handsome every year. And he made _sure_ he wasn’t ignored. He’d contradict Kiyoomi during class recitations, toss mocking remarks at him anytime they’re within earshot of each other, took pleasure in calling him out and downright embarrassing him, and he’d do shit like nudge Kiyoomi’s elbow while he was pouring a chemical in a beaker during Chem. The solution had bubbled over and spilled across the table and he’d been instantly furious, kicking Atsumu in the calf so hard he got unbalanced and fell on the floor. The impact left a large and prominent bruise and Kiyoomi felt victorious.

They were bad for each other. They got under each other’s skin like no one else could. He didn’t know why they kept circling each other anyway — maybe they were in the same school now, but they were worlds apart.

He didn’t know why the thought made him sad.

\--

“I heard you got into another incident with Atsumu Miya,” his mother said over breakfast the next morning. Their longtime domestic helper, Mercy, had cooked and served them pancakes. He slathered butter over his piece, and proceeded to pour condensed milk over it.

“You heard right,” he told his mother. “Did he report me?”

“No, your Aunt Hanna told me.” Hanna was Motoya’s mother; his cousin must have told her. “She was scandalized, said I should either put you on lockdown or send you to a confessional.”

“Ugh. Please don’t.”

His mother laughed. “Believe me, I’m more amused than anything. What is it with that boy that keeps ticking you off? It’s not like you to rise to the bait like this.”

“He’s _mean_ , Ma. And he keeps targeting me!”

“Darling, that’s too much condensed milk.”

He stopped pouring. “He’s always picked on me, you know that.”

His mother made a humming noise. “Is that so.”

“ _Yes_. I hate him.”

“I understand, but honey, you know how this reflects on our family.”

He looked down and picked on his pancakes.

His mother sighed, and in a gentler voice said, “I might be busy over the next few weeks, if not months. I have business in Manila.”

He looked back up at her. “Have you closed the deal? Are you expanding Sakusa Pharmacy?”

“We’re in final negotiations, but it’s as good as done. I want to be based there by the time you move there for university. When are the entrance exams again?”

“September.”

“Wonderful. I’m sure you’re prepared.”

“It’s only June,” he grumbled. “But yes, of course.”

Just one more year. One more year and he’ll be out of this hellhole. And he wouldn’t have to see Atsumu Miya or anyone from this stupid town again.

**Chapter 3**

Foster kept trying to catch him alone. Kiyoomi knew what he was going to ask, and he’d hurriedly accepted more duties in the student council so he’d have an excuse to say no.

It was mid-July now and they were all preparing for August — as usual they would be celebrating Buwan ng Wika, the month dedicated to honor their country’s language. It culminated in a school program in which each class prepares a set of performances in relation to the theme. Kiyoomi hated it, hated all performances in general. It’s a tragedy their school absolutely loves them and made any excuse to demand them: talent shows, Teachers’ Day, Christmas parties. It stressed him out more than anything.

A long-buried memory of a botched recital came to mind and he banished it once again.

No, Foster, he was not playing the violin for the program.

By now, his classmates have settled for their individual or group acts. Kiyoomi lied and said he was working on logistics with the council, said he was doing “backstage stuff” so he got a pass. No one bothered to call him out, he’d been pulling this crap for years.

Teachers let them have a free day and full control of the large, air-conditioned auditorium for practice. Kiyoomi secretly thought they were just caught up in the festivities and simply weren’t in the mood to teach. He wasn’t complaining.

The “rehearsals” were just an excuse for his classmates to hang around and chat with their friends. They sat in groups around the room, gossiping like there was no tomorrow. There were some who actually were practicing in separate corners — there was someone banging on the keys of the piano at the front of the room, and another mindlessly strumming the guitar at the back.

Kiyoomi hoped Foster would hurry up and save them from this toneless hell. As their music teacher, he was supposed to help and guide the performances. He’ll be playing the piano for many of the acts.

The door opened and Kiyoomi turned hopefully, but it was only a child — Foster’s grandson who could be spotted hanging around school every once in a while. He was clutching his baby violin and smiling brightly.

“Josey!” some of the girls squealed.

The kid hurried over to where they were sitting cross-legged on the floor at the front of the room, eager for attention. Kiyoomi turned back to his planner. He didn’t like kids. They were dirty and slobbery and messy.

“Will you join us in practice? Will you be performing, too?” the girls were saying.

He heard his cousin say, “You should show us your progress! Foster said you’ve been doing well!”

Kiyoomi let the conversation turn into a background buzz as he plotted out his schedule for the following week.

Then Motoya shouted, “Yo, Kiyoomi! Come here!”

He didn’t look up. He knew what he was going to ask. The kid had been attempting to play “River Flows in You” by Yiruma and Kiyoomi had been spending the past 10 minutes wincing internally.

“Your cousin is calling you, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu drawled from a couple rows away.

Kiyoomi ignored him, too.

After the Dinuguan Incident, he had arrived at his desk the following morning to see a note reading, _“Sorry. -AM”_ on his desk. He had crumpled it and thrown it at Atsumu, who was carefully not looking at him. It hit the back of his neck.

He’d given Atsumu the cold shoulder since then, willing himself to become an impenetrable wall.

And then there were light footsteps headed in his direction, and the kid, who must be around eight years old, tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie. Kiyoomi looked at him impassively. It should be enough to scare off any child, but Josey just looked at him hopefully. “Will you show me?”

This whole thing _reeked_ of Foster. He plotted this. Kiyoomi just knew it.

Well, he wasn’t about to be mean to the kid. He sighed and let himself be tugged to the group sitting on the floor in front.

Motoya grinned at him and he glared back. “You had one of these before, right, cuz?” He held out the small violin.

“Yeah. A _decade_ ago.”

“I’m sure you could play it again,” Motoya insisted. “Josey doesn’t think he’s hitting the right notes.”

“He isn’t.” The girls glared at him reproachfully, and Josey looked like he was going to cry.

“Mean,” Atsumu’s voice called out.

He sighed and took the violin and bow. He crouched down in front of the kid. “This piece is a little too advanced for you, kid.”

The piece is only set in the key of A Major, but it strays to the second position at some point and would require the use of the fourth finger — the pinky finger, which needed to be trained for months before it’s strengthened. It also had a lot of perfect fifths, so if you only knew the first position, it would be a pain to play. And to listen to.

“How far can you play?”

“The third position,” Josey mumbled.

He studied the instrument. No tapes. He must be more advanced than he thought. “You need to practice your fourth finger. You were hitting flat notes. You need to stretch it further.”

Josey was back to his old cheerful self now. “Show me, please!”

Kiyoomi studied the violin again. It was smaller than he was used to but he knew he could adjust again. A violin is a violin.

He placed the instrument between his chin and shoulder, shifting to his knees and sitting back on his heels.

Then he played “River Flows in You,” the notes ringing in the air, and satisfaction curled in his chest when his vibrato turned out flawless. _Those_ were the right notes. He could play this one in his sleep.

He had to force himself to stop after a while, otherwise he’d finish the piece. He offered it back to the kid.

“More!” he demanded.

“No. I might break it.” Probably not, but still. It felt too small in his hands.

“Then how about a full sized violin?” Foster’s voice asked from behind him.

He _knew_ it. He just knew it.

He looked over his shoulder and Foster was already holding out his own instrument, a beautiful violin manufactured in Germany in 1953. Kiyoomi had always wanted to try it, but if he asked, he knew it would come around to bite him in the ass. Foster was scheming that way.

Someone took Josey’s violin and bow from his hands and shoved him a little.

“Play for us!” a girl gushed. Her name was Carla — she was a singer. He never liked her. She once told him to go to a derma when his acne got bad.

“Do it, Sakusa, third grade was forever ago,” another classmate, Danico, said and now Kiyoomi was reminded why he never wanted to play in front of people again.

“What happened in third grade?” That was Osamu. Right. They weren’t there yet.

“It was just a little botched recital,” Wakatoshi said. “It was no big deal.”

Kiyoomi sighed, aggrieved. He stood up slowly. “It was a big deal, I have trauma now. I can’t play, Teach. Please stop trying to corner me.”

“So you have been avoiding me,” Foster accused. He shoved the violin and bow into Kiyoomi’s hands. “I am going to let go of this in 3...2…”

Kiyoomi grasped the instrument reflexively. Antiques were expensive, damn it.

“Ha!” Foster walked towards the piano and sat down. “Just one song. You haven’t let me hear you play since you were 10. I thought maybe you’d stopped.”

Resigned, he followed slowly and stood in front of his old violin teacher. All these years, and he was still low-key terrified of him. His shoulders were tense.

“What have you been working on?” Foster asked.

He thought about it. “The Theme from Schindler’s List.”

Motoya called out, “He’s lying.”

“Doesn’t matter, that one’s fine. A classic, rather difficult. I’ll play accompaniment.”

Foster started playing the piano and he positioned the instrument automatically. When it was time for him to come in, he started playing — and he fell in love with the beautiful sound coming from the violin. Antiques really sounded _amazing_. 

Then he felt the eyes on him and his bow hand tensed — when he played the next note, the bow landed too hard, making a screeching noise. He stopped.

“You’re too tense,” Foster scolded. “You know what happens when you tense up.”

“It’s not my fault,” he gritted out.

There were muttered claps. “It’s fine, Sakusa!” Danico encouraged. “At least you played some notes this time!”

He turned his head and glared at him. He really hated this school sometimes. He hated that they will forever remember the time he stood on stage and completely blanked out, unable to play a single note. He’d walked off without a word after five whole minutes of just standing there.

And then he saw Atsumu looking at him contemplatively. “Leave him alone. If he can’t do it, don’t force him.”

As usual, his words pricked at Kiyoomi. He felt patronized. He wasn’t a third grader anymore, damn it. He was leagues ahead of his nine-year-old self.

He turned back to Foster, who said, “I know you can do better than this.”

And that was the wrong thing to say. He placed the violin and bow gently on top of the piano. “One day, maybe I can do it again, but today is not that day. Sorry.”

Foster sighed. “I hope to at least see you play again before you graduate and I never see you again.”

And there goes the guilt-tripping.

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll believe that when I see that you mean it.”

Offended but trying to hide it, he went back to his seat and let himself fade into the background again.

\--

His uncle was late again.

The sun was sinking in the horizon, the school all but empty except for stragglers or those still in club activities. Kiyoomi was on his back on a bench outside, head pillowed on his backpack and reading a book. He was bundled up in the sea green hoodie he always kept in his bag, because the evening wind can be cold no matter how hot the day was, and there really was no telling when it was going to rain. Good thing, too — he’d been outside waiting for two hours.

Of course, he knew when the first hour passed that his uncle was not going to make it, even if he didn’t receive a text. He could have gone home by himself, but he was uncomfortable commuting alone at this hour. He was willing to admit he’d always been sheltered — his mother knew it too which was why she always insisted that her brother pick Kiyoomi up whenever he could.

However, he knew Motoya and Wakatoshi were still in school for volleyball club practice — they only ever played official games during inter-school competitions, but the team seemed to have fun doing it everyday anyway. So he was waiting for them to finish up so they can all go home together. Their practices always ran long, which was why Kiyoomi and his uncle never waited for them. Unlike him, they could commute just fine.

Footsteps approached. “Omi?” Motoya called out, concerned. The footsteps hurried. He lowered his book and looked up to see his cousin and Wakatoshi...and Atsumu, Osamu, Aran, Suna, and Shinsuke. Right. They were all in volleyball together. Except Shinsuke, who just seemed to like watching his friends.

They all gave him polite greetings, which he just blinked at.

”What are you still doing here?” Motoya asked, frowning. “Pa was supposed to pick you up…”

“Well, he didn’t. It’s fine. But you should know, I think he has a new side chick.”

Motoya made a face. “Fuck. I knew it. We knew it. How’d you find out?”

“He has his phone synced up to the car’s speakers, you know.”

“Oh no.”

“He answered it yesterday when he picked me up, and a girl was moaning ‘Daddy.’ That’s probably why he’s avoiding me now.”

A beat, then howls of laughter. Motoya hid his face in his hands. “I am so fucking _sorry_. God.”

“It’s alright. Now I just trust his pick-up even less. Perhaps I should start commuting from now on.”

“Now I’m suddenly remembering the time you rode at the back and fell off because there was a spider.”

He let out a startled little laugh at the unexpected memory. Even Wakatoshi let out a snort. “If you must know I thought I was going to die.”

Wakatoshi held out a hand to Kiyoomi. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Kiyoomi took it and let Wakatoshi tug him up to a sitting position effortlessly. He’d always been so strong.

“Do you guys live near each other or…” Atsumu flicked his eyes between Kiyoomi, Wakatoshi, and Motoya.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi said politely. “I have always lived beside Kiyoomi and Motoya’s home. I overlook their family’s land from my bedroom window.”

“And we totally used to sneak into said window when we were younger,” Motoya shared cheerfully. “Until we got too big. Then we just went through the front door like normal.”

Kiyoomi tucked his book into his bag and zipped it. He stood up and slung it over his shoulder. “You coming over, Toshi?”

“Of course. I still have to beat you at Halo.”

“Let’s go, then.” He paused then looked over his classmates. “Bye, I guess.” He turned and started walking out of the school flanked by Wakatoshi and Motoya.

“You know,” Motoya said, when they were waiting for a jeepney that could bring them home. Their school was half an hour away from their houses, a few towns over. “Atsumu has actually been nicer to me lately.”

“Has he.”

“Yeah. Did you really scare him that bad, cuz?”

“He still hates me,” Wakatoshi reported.

“Huh. Maybe I was just imagining it.”

“How do you stand being in the same club as him, then?” Kiyoomi wanted to know.

Motoya shrugged. “He’s a good player. And pretty fair, for a team captain. Whatever personal issues he has with us, he never let us feel it on the court. And we never took it personally anyway — it seems that there are just some people he really disliked.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Alright, then.”

“Oh, he asked for your number though,” Motoya said.

“ _What?_ Tell me you didn’t give it.”

“I — I _did_ , was I not supposed to? He said he just wanted to fix things with you!”

“Why would you think I’d be okay with you giving it!?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know! He asked for it like two weeks ago. When you didn’t come for my head, I figured he didn’t text you but — well, there’s your heads up. He has your number.” Motoya rubbed the back of his neck.

“If he hasn’t texted, then maybe he wouldn’t,” Wakatoshi supplied. “I don’t understand why he would want to speak with you, anyway.”

“Me neither.”

He was sure it was nothing. It had been an entire month and half since the Dinuguan Incident, and Atsumu seemed to be respecting Kiyoomi’s unspoken wish that he leave him alone. No smirks, no teasing, no wagging eyebrows. He didn’t talk to him, period. Kiyoomi shoved down the tiniest bit of disappointment from the part of him that used to crush on the other boy, and told himself this was good. He could live out his final year in this school in peace.

But that night, he received an iMessage that read, “Hi Omi-Omi!”

Well, then. What was he to do with this?

**Chapter 4**

He ignored it, as is typical for him.

Sure, the thought of Atsumu no longer grated at him because the other boy had stopped trying to purposely antagonize him. The only reason he could even tolerate Atsumu at all was because his teasing always lacked the malice their other schoolmates had — he honestly just always seemed to want to get a reaction from Kiyoomi. For fun. Which Kiyoomi still never appreciated.

He always took things personally. He was self-aware enough to know that.

And yes, he _still_ had a grudge over the tripping incident. He understood that Atsumu might have felt snubbed when he rejected his offer to hang out, but still. What an immature prick.

He should have known then, that Atsumu would not just allow himself to be ignored.

He paused in peeling his orange when Atsumu joined them at the cafeteria again the following Monday. He was followed by his friends. Of course.

“Omi,” Atsumu pouted. “You didn’t answer my text last week!”

Motoya and Wakatoshi turned their heads to look at him.

Kiyoomi stared at Atsumu. “Why would I answer it? Why are you here? Leave me alone.”

“I thought we were friends now.”

His eyebrow arched high. “I _never_ said that.”

“You never said otherwise, so I’ll take that as a yes!”

For a moment he was speechless. Then he said, “Every time I think you couldn’t be any more obnoxious, you prove me wrong. Fuck off, Miya.”

“You should just call us Osamu and Atsumu,” Osamu piped up. “I keep jumping to attention when you say Miya.”

Kiyoomi slid him a glance. “Not my problem, Miya.”

“I like you,” Suna said, smiling in delight. “You have a sharper tongue than what we were led to believe. We always thought you just didn’t talk.”

“Again, I am neither interested nor validated by your opinion, Suna.”

This time, Suna just laughed good-naturedly.

“I do apologize for them,” Aran said. “I feel responsible. They really aren’t that bad.” He looked at him imploringly.

Just then, Shinsuke arrived, smiling when he saw who was with his friends. “Kiyoomi, hey! Glad you joined us.”

Peeved, he said, “ _They_ joined me. Can you take them away?”

“Nope!” Shinsuke sat down with his tray. “You’re our friend now.”

“I have my own friends.”

“You have a cousin and a neighbor,” Atsumu interjected. “They don't count. Just accept us, Omi-Omi!”

Kiyoomi ground his teeth. “Don’t. _Call_ me that.”

“Again, that’s not a no. Friendship starts today!”

\--

He let himself collapse on Wakatoshi’s bed.

“I hate school.”

“I’m aware.” Wakatoshi settled on the floor and brought the DVD player to life.

They had rented a title from Video City, the latest “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” film. Kiyoomi didn’t know how many installments the horror film series had anymore — he remembered that he and Wakatoshi watched the fifth one in the theaters. He believed the newly released one was the fifteenth iteration.

Things tended to reach their province late though, so what they rented was probably the fourteenth.

“I hate this movie, I hate this entire series, I don’t want to watch anymore,” he announced midway.

Wakatoshi sighed, “You always do this.” But he paused the movie using the remote and sat up from the other side of his king sized bed. He leaned his back on the headboard.

“Mind telling me what’s been going on with you?” Wakatoshi asked him.

“What? Nothing.”

“Really? You seem distracted.”

Did he?

“Atsumu has been hanging around a lot lately, hasn’t he?”

He wriggled around on his side of the bed, eventually flopping on his side. “I don’t know with him. I don’t care what he does.”

Wakatoshi hummed. “If you say so.”

Atsumu _has_ been hanging around lately. Was it on purpose?

He’d always been at the edges of Kiyoomi’s daily life, but now it seemed like he just happened to be there, front and center, _all the time_ — he happened to be hovering beside him when there was a museum trip for art class and they needed to buddy up in pairs; he happened to be there when they needed to partner up for book discussions in English; he happened to be there in line with him in the cafeteria and always offered to get something for Kiyoomi. He’d rolled his eyes at him and said no.

Kiyoomi couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was different. Again.

Since his offer of friendship, Atsumu has been decidedly more present in their lives. In fact, one could even say he’s been _nice_.

That was probably the weird thing that was making him off-balanced. Atsumu wasn’t supposed to be _nice_. He was a jerk. He was coarse, and obnoxious, and mean.

So why were they able to have a long and decent conversation about Shakespeare’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream” during English class?

He didn’t like it. He was up to something.

“Kiyoomi.”

“Hmm?”

“I was asking about your mother’s health.”

“Oh, she’s fine. Busy. You know she’s trying to close that deal in Manila. You can come over for dinner, if you like.”

But Wakatoshi only sighed, “I know when you’re thinking about Atsumu.”

He shot up in bed. “What? I’m not. What?”

His best friend gave him a stern glance. “I know you better than anyone. And I’ve watched your distracting relationship with Atsumu for the past five years. I know you like him.”

“I do not. I hate him.”

“You liked him, when he was new. Then you hated him. Then you hated him but also liked him. Now you like him again, for real.”

Kiyoomi stared at him in disgust. “ _No_.”

“Hmm. I suppose you might still be unaware. I apologize.”

Kiyoomi huffed. “Apology not accepted.” He grabbed the remote and hit the play button.

This movie really was horrifying. It was making his stomach flutter around.

\--

“Gotcha!”

Hands grabbed Kiyoomi by the arm and he dug his heels in, but he was no match for two six-foot-tall athletes. Even though he was at their height.

Suna and Osamu dragged him to the marriage booth, where Aran was standing gripping Atsumu by the shoulder.

The Buwan ng Wika was in full swing, and naturally, there was a school fair. Since he was part of the student council, he usually got away with not participating in these things, claiming he was busy handling things, as usual. But Suna and Osamu managed to drag him into it while looking for victims to shove into the marriage booth.

And naturally, Atsumu _just happened_ to be nearby.

“Guess this means we’re married now, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu said as he slid a plastic ring on Kiyoomi’s finger.

He looked at Atsumu in disgust. “Kill me now.”

“Actually, you should kiss,” Suna said, seemingly invested. He was documenting the moment with his phone.

“I’d really rather die.”

“Any more and you’d actually start hurting my feelings, Omi,” Atsumu said, pouting.

There was something in Atsumu’s tone that made Kiyoomi think he was actually serious. From the corner of his eye, he saw Suna take a step towards them and just knew that he was about to smash their faces together and yell, “And now kiss!”

Hating himself a little, Kiyoomi sighed and, before he could talk himself out of it, kissed Atsumu on the cheek.

“Till death do us part. I’m gonna go and look for a nice way to end my existence now.”

Atsumu didn’t say anything, so he just turned and left.

He told himself that the fluttery feeling in his stomach was just anxiety and that the tingling on his lips were because of germs. Or was it cooties?

He was just fine living in denial.

\--

Kiyoomi was minding his own business in the cafeteria letting Wakatoshi and Motoya’s conversation waft over him, when the chair beside him moved.

An arm rested across the back of his seat and he stiffened when Atsumu leaned close and dropped something on the table in front of him.

It was a serving of leche flan.

He slid a sideways glance at him, as the rest of Atsumu’s friends took the liberty to join them at their table. “What.”

“Did I get it right this time, Omi?” Atsumu asked, resting his cheek on his palm and gazing at him.

He was flustered from the proximity and attention but he was good at hiding these things. Flatly, he asked, “What are you up to now?”

“Well, I just realized we got married without me courting you, so I’m doing something about that.”

Motoya choked on his food, and Wakatoshi said, “Did you now?”

He took a breath so he wouldn’t kill the most popular boy in school. “That was a fake wedding and this marriage is a sham. I’m getting a fake divorce.”

“It’s not fake, we have wedding rings and everything.” Atsumu flashed his hand where the plastic ring still sat. It was a mood ring, of all things. “Why aren’t you wearing yours? Don’t tell me you didn’t keep it!”

He did keep it, but he was never ever going to tell anyone that. “Throw that away and leave me alone.” He paused. “I will, however, take the leche flan.”

Wakatoshi said, “Leche flan is his favorite.”

“Shut up, Toshi.” But he ate the dessert.

Atsumu grinned at him like he’d just been thrown a bone.

**Chapter 5**

Motoya and Wakatoshi were throwing a party.

It was a yearly thing, a very late joint birthday bash to cap off August, when all the Buwan ng Wika festivities were done.

Kiyoomi, of course, never attended, even though it was held in their estate. That way, guests can stay overnight — the Komoris’ house was large enough to accommodate many guests.

His mother had tried shooing him to “play with his classmates'' before but Kiyoomi always recoiled. He had never wanted to expose himself like that to his classmates. He was sure they’d make fun of the moles scattered across his shoulders and back, especially since they’ve forever been teasing him about the two on his forehead. He was also never in the mood for them to compare his body, which was a normal size for his height, to Wakatoshi’s, because it just looked measly and embarrassing.

He’d only ever been self-conscious when beheld by others. He hated it.

“Just come,” Motoya insisted the day before this year’s party. “It would literally take you a few minutes to walk from your room to the pool. Besides, your boyfriend and his friends are coming.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, shut up.”

“He sure as hell acts like it.”

“That’s his problem. He’s doing it just to annoy me.”

“I will never understand your relationship.” Motoya shook his head. “Anyway. If you ever feel like it, we’ll be there waiting.”

As expected, he didn’t go at all. He ignored the sounds of cars entering and exiting their estate from where he sat reading in his window seat, enjoying the cool night air and the scent of sampaguitas from the garden outside his room. Mercy had banged open his door and demanded why he wasn’t with his “friends,” and he simply asked her to grab some food from over there and bring them over to him, pretty please. She rolled his eyes but left.

When the door opened again after around 15 minutes, he didn’t look up from his book. He said, “Just put it there on my —”

“Nice place you got here, princess.”

He jolted and turned to see Atsumu carrying a plate on each hand, one with cake on it, and one with lasagna. He could see Mercy slip away from behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here? Go back to the party.”

“Meh, it’s kinda boring for now. I think I’ll stay here.”

Kiyoomi stared at him in disbelief. Slowly, he enunciated, “Go. Away. Miya.”

Atsumu did the opposite — he kicked the door shut behind him, approached and sat on the opposite corner of the window seat. It was wide and comfortable, and perfectly matched the tall windows that gave a gorgeous view of the garden.

Kiyoomi was suddenly reminded that he was wearing weasel-patterned pajamas that his mother had given him because she thinks he’s still a baby, and that his hair was probably a wild mess because it was the weekend, damn it. He hoped Atsumu wouldn’t stare too closely. He’d slept late last night and he had a pimple on his jaw.

Then he wondered why he cared. He scowled at the other boy, who was placing the plates on the seat. He sighed and sat up properly, moving his legs to make space.

“The nerve you have, really,” he commented. Then, because he wasn’t raised to be rude, he asked, “Have you eaten?”

Atsumu leaned back against the sill and made himself comfortable. “I have, go on and eat.”

He picked up the fork and tried the cake first. It was the famous Sinful Chocolate Cake from A La Creme, his favorite.

“You have a sweet tooth, don’t ya.”

Kiyoomi frowned at him but otherwise ignored him.

Atsumu watched him as he ate and Kiyoomi wondered if it should feel weirder than it did. There were times in between their tiny wars where they were both quiet and strangely at peace like this. He was always glad for the reprieve so he never questioned it.

Maybe it was because Atsumu had seen Kiyoomi at most of his awkward stages and witnessed almost all of his embarrassing moments that made it comfortable to sit with him like this. There wasn’t much to hide anymore. Or maybe he’d been conditioned the past few weeks to Atsumu’s presence? He didn’t feel like strangling him for now so he let him be.

“Do you like weasels?” Atsumu asked suddenly.

Kiyoomi licked his lips. “I guess. My mom used to call me her little baby weasel, I don’t know why. It stuck.”

Atsumu smiled at him, bemused. “That’s cute. Your mom owns Sakusa Pharmacy, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah.” He stood up and headed to his bedside table to pluck tissues from the box sitting there. He wiped his mouth. “She started it after giving birth to me. She should be home soon —”

His door banged open. “Honey, I’m home!” A pause. “You’re not my son.”

Atsumu was on his feet. “Er, hi Auntie…”

Alarmed, Kiyoomi walked towards his mother’s line of sight from where she was standing in the doorway. “Hi Ma.”

“Darling! Who is this handsome young man?”

He stalked towards her, widening his eyes furiously. “A classmate.”

His mother presented her cheek to him for an obligatory kiss. He leaned down and obeyed, and before he pulled away, he hissed, “Do not embarrass me.”

He turned back and beckoned Atsumu closer. When he was close, he turned back to his mother. “This is Atsumu Miya. Atsumu, this is my mom.”

Atsumu was wearing a sheepish smile. “Sorry you had to meet me like this, Auntie.” He took her hand and pressed his forehead against the back of it.

His mother’s eyes widened and the moment Atsumu straightened up, she was studying him intently from head to toe. And then back. “Oh, I’m pleased, actually, Kiyoomi doesn’t bring _friends_ over, and I always wished he would.”

“He’s not my friend,” Kiyoomi said. “He’s here for Toya’s party. Remember?”

His mother blinked. “Oh! Is that tonight? Why aren’t you over there?”

“You ask me that every year.”

She sighed and shook her head sadly. “I wish you would put in more effort in making friends. You are antisocial enough as it is. Atsumu, honey, you’ll be his friend, won’t you?”

“Ma,” he snapped.

“That’s why I’m here,” Atsumu smiled at him charmingly. “I’m close to winning him over, I can feel it.”

His mother looked delighted. “I like you! Have you eaten?”

“Ma, he has a party to go to. He just came here to bring me food.”

“Right, sorry. Go on ahead, dear. But you know, if you’re staying over, you can stay here —”

“Ma.”

“I know Toya lets everyone sleep in their house, but it can get crowded —”

“ _Ma_.”

“We have lots of space here,” she finished.

“I’d love that,” Atsumu replied eagerly.

“Then it’s done! See you later, Atsumu dear. Or tomorrow, I might already be asleep. If the front door is locked later, you can just knock on Kiyoomi’s windows.”

“Okay, Auntie. I’ll head back now.”

“I’ll show you out.”

He watched as his mother and his nemesis walked out of his bedroom arm in arm. When they were out of sight, he shut the door and threw himself on his bed, muffling a groan in his pillow.

Of course Atsumu would charm his mother effortlessly.

\--

After he’d showered and done his nighttime routine, Kiyoomi settled down on his bed to continue reading. He told himself not to get too comfortable in case Atsumu did come knocking on his window.

But he was so cozy under his blankets, and the words were starting to swim over the pages, and he didn’t sleep much the night before...

He fell right into sleep.

\--

He blinked awake to the feeling of sunlight of his face and the sound of birds chirping. His air conditioner had been turned off, his curtains and windows left wide open. He frowned. This was not how he left things last night. Mercy must have come in already without him noticing.

Then he jolted when he remembered that Atsumu was supposed to sleep over. He looked around his room — nothing was out of order. There were no mattresses on the floor, no extra blankets, nothing.

He must have gone home then, or stayed over at Motoya’s.

Kiyoomi patted around the sides of his bed and on his bedside table. He couldn’t find his glasses.

Giving up, he went to his large bathroom and brushed his teeth. Then he meticulously did his skincare, because his skin was finally clear (most days) and he wasn’t about to ruin that. It took a lot of trial and error before he figured out which ingredients worked for him, and which ones his skin absolutely hated.

When he was done with his morning routine, he left the bathroom and wondered what he wanted to do today. It was Sunday, and he’d done all his homework already. He usually did yoga and practiced violin in the morning, though sometimes, his mother requested him to play the piano, which was situated in the living room. He wasn’t as good at it, but he was good enough. Wakatoshi was leagues better at it.

His mother was probably at church. He wondered why she didn't wake him to accompany her.

After pondering it for a moment, he decided breakfast was a priority. He started heading towards the dining room, calling out, “Mercy, could you help me look for my glasses?”

And then Atsumu’s voice said, “I put it beside your pillow.”

He stopped in his tracks and squinted at the dining table. There were figures sitting there. Plural.

“What the hell?”

“Morning, cuz!” Motoya greeted. “This is late for you. Come sit.”

Mercy brushed past him. “I’ll look for your glasses and fix your bed. Go eat.”

Confused, he headed over and took the empty seat at the head of the table. He squinted at his guests: Atsumu, Osamu, Aran, Shinsuke, and of course Wakatoshi and Motoya. “Why are you here?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Wakatoshi said.

“We slept over, hope you don’t mind,” Osamu said.

He frowned. “Where did you sleep exactly?”

“In your room,” Atsumu said cheerfully. “You were dead to the world though. Mercy put some mattresses down for us.”

He tried to remember. He could vaguely remember his book being taken out of his hands, his glasses being removed, a hand brushing over his hair. He didn’t dream that? He flushed. Was that Atsumu?

“I’m going to kill my mother. Where is she?”

“She’s at church,” Motoya said. “Along with mine. Ma wanted me to go because she said I committed sin last night, but I said I might be sinning again today so might as well do it in one go later.”

Kiyoomi snorted. Then he and Motoya shared a laugh.

“Your mothers are terrifying,” Wakatoshi said.

“Aunt Sachi seemed nice,” Atsumu insisted.

“Kiyoomi, I hope it’s not rude to ask, but is your father not in the picture?” That was Shinsuke. He lived in the city near the Miyas so he supposed he wouldn’t know.

“No, he isn’t, never was. He didn’t want to take responsibility. My mother never married.”

“She was practically crucified by this town when they realized she was pregnant and unmarried,” Motoya said. “It was a big scandal. Or so they liked to tell me.”

“Yes, and everyone wanted to see the illegitimate Sakusa child,” Kiyoomi said drily. “They still watch me like a hawk to this day.”

“Damn,” Aran said. “I had no idea.”

Kiyoomi shrugged. None of that drama mattered in school. He wasn’t there to make friends. “I’m used to it. They’re ancient, anyway. They’ll die soon and I won’t even attend the funerals.”

Silence. Then surprised laughter.

Mercy returned and gave him his glasses. “It was under your pillow. Why aren’t you eating?”

“Because I can’t _see_.” He put his glasses on. “Thank you.”

He studied each of his haggard-looking classmates, who studied him right back. He looked at Motoya. “How’d you hide the alcohol from your mom?”

“She caught us,” he said glumly. “I’m on lockdown after this.”

“It’s what you deserve for bringing in strays.”

“Ouch,” Atsumu said. “You’re always so mean, Omi-Omi.”

Breakfast was beef tapa, but it tasted especially nice that day.

\--

Against all odds, they all became friends since then, and Kiyoomi’s world was suddenly a lot louder.

They had all forced him to accept their Facebook friend requests, and once he gave in, they created a group chat with him. To ensure he didn’t leave the group, they even added Motoya and Wakatoshi.

His cousin made the short trek from his own room to Kiyoomi’s when he saw it. “What in the world is happening?”

“They want to make me their friend. Why, I don’t know. How do you make this stop?”

“I mean...friends are good for you, Omi,” Motoya looked at him earnestly. Oh God. Him, too. “Toshi and I won’t always be there, you know? Besides, six-footers as your friends? Let anyone try to mess with you now.”

“Nobody has been messing with me in a while. _I’m_ a six-footer.”

“Yeah, but people are still mean sometimes, because you never fight back, you just ignore them. And look, these guys are kinda...they’re kind of jerks, but they’re not mean, you know? I would know, I’m in the same team with them. They just come across as, well...assholes, and they are a bit, but would Shinsuke really be friends with them if they were that bad?”

He supposed not. Shinsuke has a good head on his shoulders.

“Just try to stop pushing them away, that’s all I ask.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Yes, _mom_.”

It turned out there was no fighting them anyway — over the course of the next few weeks, they proved that they've made it their mission to befriend him, for reasons he didn’t understand. When he snapped at them, they let his words and his tone of voice roll off of them, unbothered. When he ignored them, they just kept trying, not even calling him out anymore. They seemed to accept that sometimes, he’d just leave them on read. Or wouldn’t even bother opening their messages.

Shinsuke seemed to be pleased with the development, observing that Kiyoomi had finally stopped avoiding him outside of extracurriculars. “Now I have someone sensible to bond with. I love those guys, I do, but sometimes they’re idiots.”

“Only sometimes?” he’d asked doubtfully, and Shinsuke just laughed.

After a while he finally said, “I don’t understand why you’re all so determined.” What he was really asking was, _why me? Do you pity me? Are you all just guilty?_

Shinsuke seemed to hear his unspoken questions anyway. “It's because they — well, we — realized that you were actually human, Kiyoomi. I mean, do you even know how you come across to everyone? You're so unforgiving and cold. So above everything. And it's easy for others to be careless with you because nobody ever thinks that anything lands, and there are those mean enough to try anyway. When you snapped that day in the cafeteria I think we were all shocked. And Atsumu — you didn’t see it, but he felt extremely bad. He really was sorry, Kiyoomi. He forgets to temper himself sometimes, and especially so when it comes to you. Because he always thinks you could take it.”

“I’m not bulletproof,” he muttered. As much as he wanted it to be.

“And now you have us to take some of those bullets for you,” Shinsuke said firmly, smiling at him.

The final nail in the coffin was when Wakatoshi said their team was suddenly doing much better, now that they were all actually friends now. Wakatoshi said he felt no more animosity from Atsumu, and that he was relieved. He was still their team captain — it weighed on him.

That was when he sighed in defeat. “Fine. Damn it. I guess friends won’t be bad. Don’t ever say I never do shit for you.”

Wakatoshi and Motoya patted him on the back for that.

He didn’t really know how friendship worked outside of his tiny bubble, but he supposed he was about to find out.

\--

He had to admit, being friends with Atsumu was much better than being at odds with him.

The other boy was surprisingly nice and considerate when he wanted to be. Kiyoomi no longer felt like he had to defend himself against him, so he was able to relax a little. He let himself listen to Atsumu instead of preparing sharp retorts, and made an effort to open up a little, too. He wasn’t good at talking. He was better at listening.

Atsumu didn’t seem to mind his quiet, short answers. He was able to effortlessly maintain the conversation with just that.

He still teased Kiyoomi a lot. But this time, Kiyoom knew he didn’t mean anything by it, so he let it go — even though it still unavoidably irritated him at times. Whenever it did, he’d just snap back at him and Atsumu would grin apologetically and bump his shoulder against his.

Friends, huh? He thought maybe he liked it. And he supposed all the rest of them weren’t bed, either.

They all sat at the same lunch table now, and learned to just ignore it whenever Atsumu and Kiyoomi inevitably bickered. The first time it happened again, Aran just shrugged and said, “As long as no one pours dinuguan on anyone, it’s all well and good. My expectations are low.”

“Listen,” Osamu told him one day, looking serious. “I know more than anyone how annoying my shitty brother is. I apologize for his existence. Every day I wonder what I did in my past life to deserve this fate. But the more obsessed he is with you, the less crap he gives me. So I’m not really sorry. You’re on your own, buddy.

He frowned and asked, “Obsessed?”

Osamu just patted Kiyoomi on the shoulder and walked away, laughing.

They were twins alright.

**Chapter 6**

He woke up to a large body jumping on his bed and yelling, “Omi-Omi!”

Groaning, Kiyoomi lifted his comforter over his head, but Atsumu just crushed him under his body. And Kiyoomi might have a couple of insignificant inches over Atsumu but the other boy was _built_. He stood no chance.

He wheezed out, “Get off, fuck.”

The weight disappeared, left the bed entirely, finally letting him breathe.

But then Atsumu whipped the blanket off of him completely. “Wakey wakey!”

“I hate you,” he said, before burying his face into his pillow.

“It’s the first day of Christmas break, get up!”

Ah, right. The gang had Plans.

They were let out of school yesterday, and they wouldn’t be returning until the second week of January. That’s over three weeks worth of peace. Kiyoomi was looking forward to it.

He definitely was _not_ looking forward to Atsumu rudely waking him, barging into his room uninvited. He’d just fallen asleep _again_ , after going to his fifth pre-daw mass for Simbang Gabi. He wanted to rest, damn it.

But as always, Atsumu was not to be deterred. He was here so often, he had stopped knocking, he’d just stroll into their house. His mother welcomed him like he was family, of course. He was almost as regular a visitor as Wakatoshi. Their other friends visited, too, but Atsumu visited just the tiny bit more.

He supposed it was because he could consider Atsumu his best friend now. Aside from Wakatoshi. There was a difference between the two friendships that he refused to think about yet.

Atsumu had turned off his air conditioner and opened his curtains and wide windows, letting the cool December air and the scent of dew in. He was now tirelessly poking at his back. Kiyoomi groaned and finally rolled over. “What time is it?”

“It’s 8 a.m. You’re wasting the day!”

Kiyoomi blinked unhappily at him. “I had to wake up at 3:30 a.m. and walk to church to make it to the 4 a.m. mass. I’m sleepy.” He curled up on his side again, intending to nap a little more.

The bed dipped and Kiyoomi watched Atsumu lay beside him on the bed, resting his head on his other pillow. “You're always sleepy. You sleep too much, you know? But fine, you can have 10 more minutes.” He started tapping at his phone.

Kiyoomi fell asleep watching the sunlight play on Atsumu’s face and hair.

He woke up again when a large, warm hand shook his shoulder. He blinked at Atsumu’s face. “It’s 9 a.m. Our friends are bored. Let’s go, Omi-Omi.”

He groaned and went through the difficult process of getting up. He was tangled up in his blankets again, Atsumu must have returned it when he let him sleep.

Kiyoomi ran his hand through his undoubtedly messy hair. “Shower,” he muttered. Then he staggered into his vanity room.

He actually had a pretty neat set up. His bedroom was _large_ — in the city, it could be considered an entire apartment studio. But Kiyoomi got lucky, because his bedroom used to be his grandmother’s, renovated to make it his, but retaining all its classic features. Kiyoomi’s father had never been in the picture, and his mother had to work so she could afford to raise him without smooching off her family’s money. His grandmother, Lydia, had done the actual upbringing. She took care of him for years — she would brush his curls every night in front of her dresser, and she would sing him lullabies, and he would fall asleep beside her on her bed. Kiyoomi remembered he used to spend mornings in her garden, picking sampaguita flowers to place on her altar, right at the bottom of the image of Jesus Christ, and she would always smile at him, proud and pleased.

When she passed away due to diabetes years back, everyone decided Kiyoomi could have her room. He didn’t want to, at first — he didn’t want it touched at all. But they said she would have wanted him to continue living there, because that room, of all places in their sprawling family ancestral land, was _his_ home.

So now he had a large marble bathroom, a large marble dresser, a large walk-in closet, a large bed, and a large window seat overlooking his grandmother’s large garden. Everything was old-fashioned and it reminded him of her. He liked it. He worked to maintain the style. And he still had her jewelry and old perfume bottles on the dresser. He never touched those.

The first time his new friends came over in the Sakusa house after that party, they had toured it with open mouths.

“Okay,” Aran had said when they settled in his room. “People weren’t kidding when they said you were rich.”

“My _family_ is rich,” he corrected. “My family comes from old money. Old, old money. My great, great, great grandfather or whatever claimed this piece of land during the time of the Spaniards. He was considered to be some lord back then. And well, the next generations maintained the land and the wealth.”

“So Motoya is rich, too?”

Kiyoomi nodded. “We’re a big family. I’m my mother’s only child, but my mother has three sisters and two brothers, and each of them has families. So all of them have a house here somewhere. It’s a big piece of land. Each family has to work for their own wealth, though. The only thing they get from the Sakusa name is — well, the prestigious name, which is not something to laugh at, and a spot in the family’s land. But that’s it.”

“Are we like...hanging out with royalty?” Osamu asked, stunned. “I mean, people mostly call you Sakusa and knew who you were, but we assumed it was because it’s a small town and you grew up here…?”

Shinsuke was tapping his chin. “I know the Sakusas own the pharmaceutical chain, but that’s it.”

“I thought you were a family of rich doctors,” Aran said.

“The pharmaceutical chain is owned by Kiooymi’s mom,,” Motoya said, entering the door with Wakatoshi and shutting it behind him. “But the Sakusa name in general is well-known. Go out and ask anyone in this town and they’d know. It has deep roots, and it’s always been reputable. That’s why we were brought up strictly. Can’t besmirch the family name. Kiyoomi got to keep the Sakusa because his mother never married. My mother’s maiden name is Sakusa, too, but we took my dad’s surname.”

“Your cheating dad?” Shinsuke inquired.

Kiyoomi and Motoya both snorted.

“My cheating dad,” Motoya agreed. “He’d always _been_ the cheating dad, it’s more of a hassle at this point. Because his side chicks are almost always gold-diggers, or obsessive creeps.”

“One of them wanted to enter the property once,” Wakatoshi shared. “When they didn’t open the gates for her, she slept outside. I kept checking for her from my balcony, she was there until the next morning.”

“Does that not bother your mother, Motoya?” Shinsuke asked.

“Oh, they hate each other. I keep wishing they’d just separate, but my father doesn’t want to leave this comfortable life, and my mother doesn’t want to live with the gossip. So they just pretend for their image’s sake. We look good from the outside but inside, well...”

“So what’s expected from you, then?” Atsumu asked, uncharacteristically serious. “If you were brought up strictly, with expectations to uphold the family name.”

Whatever good mood had vanished from Kiyoomi and Motoya’s faces.

Kiyoomi was the one to answer. “Go to a prestigious university, become a doctor or lawyer, marry a nice woman, have many children, and return here to live with the lot of them for the rest of my life.” He stared blankly at the wall.

“Pretty much,” Motoya said miserably. “We’re starting to feel the pressure now. But a lot of it is on Kiyoomi. Because the matriarch raised him herself — this was her room. He lived with Grandmother here before she passed. Plus, on paper, his name is Sakusa. It’s recognizable.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Kiyoomi was handed everything. He was lucky. He was _blessed_.

And he wanted to throw it all away. Just how ungrateful was he? The guilt ate him alive. 

Everything his grandmother wanted for him, he wanted nothing to do with. How can he go to the shrine where her ashes rested and say, ‘Grandmother, I’m gay’? Or ‘Grandmother, I want to be a musician? Or ‘Grandmother, I’m not happy with this life.’

‘Grandmother, I plan on leaving everything behind as soon as I am able to stand on my own two feet.’

Just thinking it was a betrayal. So Kiyoomi tried not to think about it too much these days. That was a problem for the future.

For now he must pretend. Pretend he was straight, pretend he was en route to follow all their dreams for him.

And as he stared now at his reflection in the mirror, trying to tame his hair, he pretended that he never felt the urge to curl up against Atsumu and tuck his face in his neck. That he didn’t look at him bathed in the sunlight and think, _My God, he’s beautiful,_ and _I would like to wake up like this every day._

It simply cannot be.

\--

A swimming pool. That was the grand plan.

Kiyoomi stared at the glimmering water and said, “No.”

His friends laughed like they expected this reaction. As they should.

“Come on, Omi-Omi, live a little! It’s gonna be fun,” Atsumu insisted.

“If my mother knew this was where you were dragging me, she never would have allowed it.”

“Why not?”

“She has an obsession with my physical appearance, okay? I have to always look like her goddamn porcelain doll. She freaked out when she thought I got darker last summer.”

It may be December, and winds might have gotten cooler, but the sun was still as unforgiving as ever. It was a different story after sundown, however. Struggles of living in a tropical, archipelagic country.

“We have sunblock,” Shinsuke said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I also never swam in a public pool before. How do we know the water is clean?”

Atsumu threw his arms out wide. “There’s nobody here. Kids are either still in classes or sleeping off their first day of break. It’s clean!”

As a last resort, he said, “I didn’t bring —”

“I packed you everything,” Motoya said, the traitor. “You literally have nothing else to worry about.”

“I hate you.”

“You’ve been saying that since we were babies, but look at us now.”

“Since you were _babies_?” Suna said. “Wow, those must have been Omi’s first words.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Fine. But if I get sunburned and disowned —”

“Then you’ll live a happier life, won’t you?” Atsumu asked, a little too seriously.

Kiyoomi let his eyes rest on the water again. So inviting. “Yeah, I will. Guess that’s a better option than killing myself.”

Atsumu stared at him. “Don’t ever joke about that.”

He met his gaze. _Who said I was joking?_

Atsumu pressed his lips together. But he only said, “Go change into your swimming clothes.” Then he turned his back and walked away. It didn’t take a genius to understand that he was upset.

Wakatoshi handed him a bag.

“You’re in this too, Toshi?”

The large man shrugged. “You haven’t had fun or been outside in a while. You should get some sun every so often.”

“I’m not a goddamn plant.”

“Just change, Kiyoomi.”

Why did he feel like his friends were managing him? He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

But he went and changed out of his clothes and into the lime green swim trunks they got him.

He went out of the bathroom and said, “Who picked this? Is he color blind?”

They all looked over at him from where they were already splashing around the pool and burst out laughing. Except Atsumu who was standing by their table and staring wide-eyed at him, hand clutching a sunblock.

Kiyoomi hurried over to him, eager to escape the sun, then took the sunblock from his hand. He sat down on a seat by their table, which was thankfully protected by a large umbrella, and checked the back of the product — he wasn’t supposed to enter the water until after 20 minutes.

“Don’t you have sunscreen specifically for the face?” Kiyoomi complained loudly, as he started smearing the product on his arms. “This is too harsh, it might harm my skin.”

“We bought one just for you, princess!” Suna called out from the pool. “We anticipated this kind of whining.”

Atsumu rounded the table and started digging through the bags. After a while, he handed Kiyoomi a Biore. “Here.”

He took it and placed the other sunblock on Atsumu’s hand. “Can you do my back?”

“S-sure.”

He checked his reflection on the screen of his phone as he started putting sunscreen on his face. It was a pleasant milky consistency. It was his favorite, and he wondered which one of them knew that.

And then Atsumu’s hand started moving across his skin and his breath hitched.

Dangerous.

This was dangerous.

His hand was large and it left a trail of heat down Kiyoomi’s back. It sent electricity running down his spine.

Kiyoomi forced himself to continue applying the product on his face. Then he did it all over again, while he tried to get himself together.

Atsumu chuckled lowly from behind him. “How many layers of that are you gonna put?”

“As many as it takes.”

“You’re too paranoid. It’s gonna be fine.”

“I’d rather not risk my mother’s wrath, thanks.”

“You know, your mother always seemed so sweet and normal to me, but she’s really...kind of a hardass, isn’t she?”

“She’s neurotic. You can say it.”

Atsumu laughed. “I wasn’t gonna say it!”

“Everyone in our family is goddamn insane. I’m over it.”

“You’re the craziest of them all.”

“Yeah, because I dared to ever think that maybe I don’t want this.”

Atsumu was silent for a moment. Then his hand curled over Kiyoomi’s bare shoulder and squeezed. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll figure it out. And I think you’ll be just fine.”

That was more faith than Kiyoomi even had for himself. He thought he’d be lucky to make it out of this town intact. Physically, sure, not a problem. But mentally? Emotionally? He didn’t know.

“Now do _my_ back,” Atsumu said.

Then a shirtless Atsumu presented himself in front of Kiyoomi and his brain short-circuited.

_Lord, forgive me for mentally, I am sinning._

Atsumu sat down on the ground between Kiyoomi’s legs after tossing his shirt onto the table. He was a large presence there and his mind dived into the gutter. There was no getting it out of there for a while. He absently took the sunblock again and started squeezing the bottle over Atsumu’s back, still reeling from the sight of toned abs.

Dollops fell on Atsumu’s shoulder and he flinched. “That’s _cold_.”

“Stop being a baby. You’ll be jumping in cold water in a few minutes.” He started rubbing the product across smooth skin and hard, hard muscle. Damn it, when did Atsumu get this hot? He wasn’t this big when he first met him in first year high school.

“The water is not cold,” Atsumu rebuked.

“How do you know?”

“I tried it with my foot.”

“It will be a different matter when your whole body is submerged.”

“Is that a scientific fact, Mr. Valedictorian?”

“That title is not a sure thing yet.”

“Hell yeah, it is. The school year is almost over and you’re still number one in everything.”

Kiyoomi suddenly felt a pang of sadness. Only four more months of this. Next month, they would learn if they got accepted into their universities of their choice. He and his friends were aiming for the big city — they took exams for the country’s top four universities, and each of those were located in Metro Manila.

He knew if they did get in, they would still see each other. But it will never ever be quite like this again.

Besides. One never knows what could happen.

“You alright, Omi?”

“Hmm? Yeah.”

“You’ve been rubbing that spot for a bit.”

He flushed. “Well, you distracted me! Stop talking.”

“What, Mr. Valedictorian can’t multitask?”

Kiyoomi was done with this now. He pinched the skin of Atsumu’s back with two fingernails.

Atsumu jerked away, shouting, “Ow! What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s what you deserve.”

Motoya finally called out, “Can you two fucking get in here already? We’re turning into prunes over here, jeez.”

\--

Falling in love with Atsumu felt inevitable. It hardly took any effort at all.

After resisting the attraction for years because of an old grudge, the moment Atsumu showed the tiniest bit of kindness towards him, he was gone.

He hated himself at first, for being like the many girls and boys whom Atsumu had captured with a simple wink or grin, but damn it, he understood why they’d fall over themselves. Atsumu’s attention was intoxicating. Everybody wanted a piece of it.

And since becoming friends, a lot of that attention had been allotted to Kiyoomi.

“I always wanted to be your friend,” Atsumu had told him months ago. “But you totally snubbed me! I was hurt okay, you seemed cool, I just wanted to get to know you. I reacted badly to the rejection. Uh, sorry again. I didn’t know. About the prior bullying. Not that it would have been cool to do that either way.”

Kiyoomi had sighed and finally let that shit go. They’d been 12 and overly emotional. They were 18 now and more self-aware. “It’s fine. Seriously, stop apologizing.”

“Well, you never accepted my apology, remember?”

“Fine. Then I accept your apology.”

And Atsumu had smiled at him so brightly he thought he saw God.

But God didn’t exist for people like him, did he? Not according to their parish priest. And definitely not according to his religious family.

His very existence was a sin. Sometimes he sat alone in his grandmother’s garden and felt like the snake in Eden. Every once in a while, Kiyoomi wished he was never born. He was suffocated, depressed.

But if he ever told his mother, she would call the pastor and have him exorcise Kiyoomi.

He wasn’t even exaggerating. They did that to his cousin, Tameesha, when she admitted she heard voices in her head. Kiyoomi had peeked from behind a wall and watched the pastor splash holy water on her and yell, “The power of Christ compels you!”

Clinically, she had paranoid schizophrenia. But for his family, she was possessed.

At the time, he had been too young to truly understand. The only thing he’d gotten from that was that if he was anything less than good and perfect and pure, then there was something wrong with him that needed to be taken out.

When he realized he was gay, he had accepted that he was doomed. There wasn’t anything in him that could be exorcised — his very being was wrong.

And yet he believed in God. How does he accept all that? Was there really no salvation for him?

Atsumu’s arrival in his world felt like a cleansing wave. Not like the sprinkle of holy water, which promises protection from evil and harm. Rather, he was like the sea — uncontrollable, all-encompassing, with the promise of freedom and escape. Kiyoomi wanted him to take him away. Or drown him. Either one was acceptable.

Sometimes, Atsumu would do things like turn around on his chair and wink at Kiyoomi sitting behind him, or walk him outside the school and wait until he was onboard a jeep, or snap at someone who’d make a sly ‘joke’ about Kiyoomi. Sometimes Atsumu would point at him whenever he scored a service ace and Kiyoomi would roll his eyes but clap politely from where he was sitting in the bleachers, and think, _you can keep your God. This is my heaven._

Deep inside, he knew what was happening. Atsumu had been content in orbiting around him the first months of their friendship, but he was steadily drawing closer and closer. As if he realized Kiyoomi didn’t have the strength to push him away.

Kiyoomi was at once thrilled and terrified at the possibilities.

He had never been in love before.

He was starting to get the hype.

Maybe Atsumu could save him.

\--

He got sunburned.

His friends had delivered him back to his mother, damp and reeking of chlorine, wearing sheepish smiles.

“Oh my goodness, Kiyoomi!” his mother exclaimed when he saw him. “What have you idiot boys done to my baby?”

“We put sunblock and all, Auntie,” Suna insisted. “But well, I guess his skin is really sensitive…”

“Look at you all, dripping on the floor! Oh, get inside. Mercy, go cut up some aloe vera from the garden, will you? And get extra towels and rugs.” Mercy, obeyed.

They were all herded towards Kiyoomi’s room, and it was really a good thing it was so big. His mother put a towel on his bed and sat him down forcefully to inspect the damage. His friends made themselves comfortable on his marble floors.

His mother titled his face left and right. “At this point you will ruin your skin. Do you want to be ugly, Kiyoomi? Who will marry you now?”

“Oh come _on_ , Ma.”

“He’s not ugly, Auntie,” Atsumu defended. “He’s just a little red, it will fade.”

His mother sighed, like they were all being particularly difficult. “Go take a bath, you reek of chlorine. Boys, you all take turns in the shower, I presume you brought clothes.”

They chimed in with “Yes, Auntie,” and Kiyoomi sullenly made his way to his vanity room, which was separated from the rest of his room by a thick red curtain.

After his bath, he pulled on a reindeer-patterned pair of red pajama bottoms and skipped the top for now, because his shoulders were burned, too. He sat in front of his dresser and called out, “I’m done!”

His mother entered, followed by Suna who must have called dibs on the shower. The other boy went into the bathroom, while his mother made a beeline for him. She sighed again when she saw the sunburn on his shoulders. “I suppose it couldn’t be helped, you are a teenager after all. I suppose I’m happier that you have friends now.”

“I had friends,” he muttered.

“Toshi and Toya don’t count, you’ve known them your whole life,” his mother said sternly.

Mercy entered then, carrying aloe vera she just cut up from the garden. They both fussed over him while he rolled his eyes and glared at his reflection. At some point Suna exited the shower and he caught his amused smirk in the mirror. He glared at him, too.

That done, his mother started blow drying his hair. “I can do it, Ma,” he said, but she hushed him.

“I know you won’t do it,” she said.

Well, she was right. Who even cared? They were just going to play video games or watch movies after this.

When that was done, his mom kissed him on the head and said, “Mercy and I will go prepare some food for you and your friends, alright? Try not to get into more trouble now. Brush your hair, will you? You just had to inherit your father’s curly hair, it’s a tragedy.” Then she disappeared and he was left in silence.

He crossed his arms over the cool surface of the dresser and rested his chin on top of them. He stared at his reflection and wondered when his mother would be satisfied with how he looked, and who he was.

She didn’t used to be this way. In fact, it was Grandmother who had been like this.

He remembered a day so long ago, when his mother was working in Manila, and his grandmother stood behind him in this very spot, untangling his hair with his hands.

“Look at you,” she’d said. “You’re filthy. That’s because you played with that poor girl down the street. You must never play with her again, Kiyoomi. She is not at your level.”

Kiyoomi had blinked at her reflection, confused. The girl’s name had been Dianne. Earlier that day, he watched her father hit her with a hanger because she lost 20 pesos. That amount of money was nothing to Kiyoomi, but her father had yelled that they could no longer afford dinner. Kiyoomi had told his grandmother this story and she was silent for a long time, before telling him he wasn’t allowed to see her again.

“But she is my friend,” he felt compelled to say. Even in tears, the girl had been ashamed that Kiyoomi saw her like that and she’d smiled at him, telling him he should go home and that she was fine.

His grandmother’s long nails dug into his scalp and he gasped. “You must never play with her again.”

So he didn’t.

Now that he was older, he realized that maybe his grandmother wasn’t as perfect as she always seemed in his memory. She was wrong about that girl, Kiyoomi was convinced of this.

Maybe she could be wrong about other things, too?

It was hard though, when his own mother was growing up to be like her. Would he grow up to be like them, too? Is that the circle of life?

His musings were interrupted by Atsumu’s voice saying, “Your mother said to brush your hair, Omi-Omi.”

Startled, his eyes flicked up to meet Atsumu’s in the mirror. His hair was damp but he was wearing dry, new clothes so he must have just finished his shower. Kiyoomi didn’t even hear the door opening.

Before he could say anything, Atsumu took the brush from the dresser. “I’ll do it.”

And he proceeded to do just that.

Kiyoomi straightened on his seat so Atsumu could do it properly. He always liked it when people played with his hair. It was relaxing.

He especially loved it now that Atsumu was doing it.

Atsumu said, “ _I_ like your curly hair.”

“You’d be the only one.”

“That’s fine. I’ll like it enough for the both of us.”

Kiyoomi felt like he had a hummingbird in his chest, but his body felt boneless. When Atsumu put the brush down, Kiyoomi couldn’t help but relax against his stomach.

Atsumu took that as permission to stroke his hair. Kiyoomi shut his eyes.

“Does it hurt?” Atsumu asked and for a second he remembered long nails scraping his scalp and almost said, _no, it doesn’t hurt if it’s you_. Then Atsumu clarified, “The sunburn.”

“Not much,” he said. It mostly stung when he touched it.

Then there was the sound of a curtain moving and he and Atsumu jerked apart.

Osamu stood in the entrance, watching them. After a tense silence, he said, “If you’re done, Tsumu, I’m taking my turn.”

Atsumu cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, go ahead.”

Osamu headed to the bathroom and Kiyoomi went into his walk-in closet to get the matching pajama top. Buf before he went back out he muffled a scream into his pile of clothes.

What was he doing? This was _wrong_.

This couldn’t possibly end well.

But when he returned to his room and curled into his bed, his heart flip-flopped on his chest as he felt Atsumu’s heavy gaze on him. And when they were all called into the kitchen for merienda, his stomach quivered when their arms brushed against each other.

And when night fell and his friends all bid goodbye, his heart flip-flopped in his chest when he heard Atsumu invite himself to the next Simbang Gabi mass.

It was hard to care about right and wrong and consequences when he felt like this.

All he knew was he couldn’t wait until he saw Atsumu again.

**Chapter 7**

There was a period in between Christmas and New Year where the world just seemed to float in limbo. Days became meaningless as time became abstract. Kiyoomi didn’t think anyone even kept track of those days.

He loved those immeasurable days. Growing up, he and Wakatoshi and Motoya used to just bike around their property or climb up their old treehouse, drinking tsokolate de batirol because it was properly chilly now. They had no obligations to school or family. They were free.

This time there weren't just three of them anymore. And because Kiyoomi and Motoya’s ancestral home was undeniably the largest, their friends had long since deemed it the place to be. Mostly, they hung out in Kiyoomi and his mom’s house, particularly his room because it could fit all of them comfortably. He hardly even bothered to remove the mattresses on his floor anymore.

Naturally, they came over during the limbo period, too. They all lived nearby, anyway, except for Atsumu and Osamu who lived in the city, a 45-minute jeepney ride away from Kiyoomi’s town. That’s where the malls and the new shops were. Even in the province, they were city boys.

Kiyoomi had often wondered why they kept bothering to visit. The others could get away with biking over, or taking the tricycle, but not the twins.

But he guessed he had an idea now. Or at least he hoped. That persistent feeling was truly a lethal thing.

The morning after Christmas, Suna woke him up by jumping up and down his bed, making him bounce. “Why are you always waking up so late?” Suna demanded. “We have presents under your Christmas tree, we’re opening them!”

“We have some for you, too,” Aran said from his doorway. “Suna, get off the bed before he kicks you.”

He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and donned an oversized hoodie. It was only 8 a.m., he truly did not know what they kept saying about it being late. They were supposed to be on vacation.

His heart thumped when he saw Atsumu chattering with his mother as he ate cookies on the dining table. Motoya and Wakatoshi were there, too, eating breakfast. The rest were probably in the living room, where the Christmas tree was set up.

He slumped into a seat on the table, scowling when they greeted him a good morning. His mother chuckled and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Where’s your Christmas spirit, baby? This is no time for grumpy Omi yet.”

“Christmas was yesterday,” he grumbled, and let his mother serve him beef tapa and rice. She kept acting like he was five, but it upset her whenever he tried to stop her — she always saw it as rejection.

“It’s Christmas until it’s January 1,” Atsumu countered.

“Yes, see, Atsumu understands,” his mother said. He wondered how she would like Atsumu if she found out her only son was hopelessly in love with him. “There’s fruit salad in the chiller. Want me to serve it?”

“I haven’t even taken a bite yet, Ma.”

“I would like some fruit salad, Auntie,” Osamu said as he entered the dining room with the rest of the gang. His mother perked up and left the table, just as the rest of them settled down.

She loved hosting people. If it weren’t Kiyoomi’s friends, it was her siblings and cousins. The house was always noisy. He didn’t know why they bothered living in separate houses when they were together every damn day.

“Seriously, Omi, let your mother have her fun once in a while,” Osamu scolded. “If she wants to feed you fruit salad, let her feed you fruit salad, dammit.”

Kiyoomi glared down at his plate and stabbed at his food. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh boo hoo, your mother spoils you endlessly and won’t even let you lift a finger if she could get away with it,” Suna mocked. Then he paused.

“What, you realized how weird that is?” he asked drily.

“Yeah…”

“Auntie is a bit much,” Motoya said in a quiet voice. “But I think it’s because she’s overcompensating for you not ever having a father, Omi.”

Kiyoomi swallowed and eased up on his food. ”I know. I owe her everything.” He owed her everything he had. He could never break her heart, even at the cost of his. The reminder weighed heavily on him.

 _Utang na loob_. Their most damning cultural trait.

When his mother and Mercy returned with the fruit salad, they served each of his friends. And when his mother asked, “Are you sure you don’t want any, baby?”, he smiled and said he’d have a serving, thanks.

He ignored Atsumu’s gaze for the rest of the meal.

\--

After that, he told himself he was going to forget about Atsumu. He was going to ignore whatever thing was brewing between them, because he was a good son and he wasn’t raised to be selfish. It might be a long shot anyway — Atsumu could have anyone, why would he want Kiyoomi? And they were _18_. Was he going to risk everything for a teenage fling?

No, he was not.

But then on the last day of the year, before they all separated to spend New Year’s Eve with their own families, Atsumu caught him alone.

He led him to his bedroom windows, which were open to let the sunlight and the scent of flowers in. And then Atsumu took his hand.

“I don’t really know how to say it, so I’m just going to come right out and say it.” He lifted his head and looked Kiyoomi straight in the eye. “Kiyoomi, I've fallen in love with you. Will you let me court you?”

Was he dreaming? Has he died?

“I…” For a second Atsumu looked terrified, so Kiyoomi powered through. “I want that, but Atsumu, I —”

“No, don’t,” Atsumu said quickly, a smile slowly overtaking his face. “None of that, yet. Omi, let’s just try this. Let me, please?”

He whispered, “But people might know.”

“I won’t make it obvious. I won’t lie, I wish I could court you the way you deserve, but...it can just be between us, for now. I only need you to understand and accept my feelings, no one else.”

That was the thing about Atsumu. Maybe it was because he didn’t grow up in a strict, traditional household, but it was easy for him to be selfish. He was the opposite of Kiyoomi.

But looking at Atsumu, who was gazing back at him with so much hope, Kiyoomi found it in himself to be selfish, too.

There was no other possible answer.

“Yes.”

\--

The new year brought with it a series of fresh beginnings, swept in by the cool monsoon winds.

Kiyoomi never thought he could be so happy.

It has only been a week since he agreed to let Atsumu court him, and school hasn’t even resumed yet, but he was already willing to say yes to everything.

Every day he woke up to a ‘Good morning’ message from Atsumu in his inbox. On days he wasn’t coming over to his house, Atsumu would text him things like, ‘Have you eaten yet?’ or ‘Sleep now, it’s late.’ Some nights, they would talk on the phone until Kiyoomi’s eyelids would droop, and Atsumu would follow him in his dreams.

When he did visit, he would slip him handwritten letters, and small gifts — a tiny stuffed fox, a charm, even a mixtape — Kiyoomi didn’t think people gave mixtapes anymore, but Atsumu apparently did. He wondered if Atsumu googled ideas for courtship presents, and snickered at the thought.

He read the letters late at night when he was sure his mother was asleep. Kiyoomi learned more about Atsumu through the written pages than the months, and even years, that he’d known him.

There wasn’t anything particularly romantic about the letters. Reading them was like listening to Atsumu ramble endlessly — there was no filter, only blunt honesty.

The only difference was that Atsumu was determined to be blunt about his feelings and it was slowly killing Kiyoomi. During his last visit, days before classes resumed, Atsumu handed him the longest letter he’d written yet, and it brought Kiyoomi to tears.

Dear Omi,

Do you know, the first time I saw you, I was stalling outside because I was nervous about my first day in my new school, and you came out of this pick up and I thought you were cute? Your hair was longer then and it fascinated me, and you just ignored everyone and I thought you were really cool. Well, you know what happened next, but do you know Osamu spent days after that laughing at me because I couldn’t communicate well with my crush? He knew all this time that I liked you, and often told me to stop ‘pulling Sakusa’s pigtails because one of these days he will snap.’

And you did snap — years later. I never had the courage to just approach you and speak plainly, I figured I ruined everything ages ago. You already decided to hate me, but I kept wanting your attention, and yet every time I tried, it all came out wrong and you hated me even more. It was hopeless. But then, when this school year started, you came out of that pick up again and you were somehow even more gorgeous than before. And I hated it, because everyone was suddenly staring at you when they never paid attention to you before, and suddenly they wanted you when they all treated you like an outcast all these years. And my friends — our friends now — told me that this was my last year to take my shot, otherwise I’ll just pine after you forever. Yes, they all knew, too.

That kind of woke me up. After six years of getting used to your distant (and snappish) presence, I couldn’t imagine just not having it suddenly. Suna and Shin and the others said they’ll help soften you towards me because they just wanted me to finally be happy. And then I somehow said the wrong thing again, and you snapped and told me you were planning on leaving. Just leaving. This town, this province, this country. And it was just unthinkable for me. I had to find a way to be in your life so that if you ever leave, I won’t lose you completely. And if you weren’t open to a relationship with me, then I would have been content to be your friend.

And they liked you, too. All my friends did. It was like you and Motoya and Wakatoshi were always meant to be a part of us, but especially you. But maybe that was just me, I don’t know. And I was going to let it go, I was. When I saw how you struggled with your family and their expectations, I decided I wasn’t going to add to your burden. I was truly happy just being near you. I already felt blessed.

But then sometimes you’d look so...empty. And sad, and resigned. And Suna and Samu would tell me to just give it up, because you had battles we couldn’t begin to understand. Battles we couldn’t help you to fight. There was no room for me in the life plotted out for you.

But then sometimes you’d smile at me so brightly, and I couldn’t help but think that maybe I could make you happy. I’m sorry that I couldn’t help myself. I just needed to try. If we could make each other happy, then that’s worth everything, isn’t it?

After all these months of finally knowing you, I know that this is not going to be easy. But I think you’re worth it anyway. And if this crashes and burns, know that if I had a choice, I would do it all over again. I hope, one day, you decide that I’m worth it, too. In the meantime, I’ll be here trying to convince you that I am.

Love,

Atsumu

\--

When Kiyoomi saw Atsumu again in school, he didn’t know how to act. Atsumu didn’t make it easy, smiling slow and knowing, eyes only on him. Kiyoomi wanted to kick him, and also wanted to throw his arms around him. He settled on glaring at him and trying to keep the blush off his face.

Atsumu just smiled wider, like he’d already cracked Kiyoomi’s code.

Smug asshole.

Osamu flicked his eyes from his twin to Kiyoomi, finally drawling, “Alright then...I’m just gonna — go sit down.”

During lunch break in the cafeteria, Atsumu offered to go get him food, and Kiyoomi claimed a table. The rest of their friends hurried to sit, and they all bunched up together, staring at Kiyoomi.

“Something is different,” Shinsuke said, unsettling eyes landing on Kiyoomi.

“I think I already know,” Suna agreed.

“Well?” Aran demanded.

Kiyoomi chewed his lip. These people had known all this time that Atsumu liked Kiyoomi. That secret never got out, so he figured he was safe.

He cleared his throat and with as much dignity he could muster, he said, “He asked to court me and I said yes. That’s all.”

Suna jumped and hissed, “Yes!”

Aran and Osamu dragged him back down with a severe “Shh!”

“Sorry,” Suna said. “But you didn’t have to hear about it for years, okay.”

Shinsuke was still studying him. “Kiyoomi...will this end well?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Sorry.”

Osamu was scowling at his plate. “This sucks. Can’t you just...why does it have to be so fucking hard?”

“I ask myself the same question every day.”

Osamu sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Well. He went into this with eyes wide open. He had already known the possibilities when he did this, so whatever.”

Just then, Atsumu arrived with a tray full of food. “I know what you’re doing, lay off of him. It’s our business.”

Later they all separated to go to their respective club activities, Kiyoomi and Shinsuke to their editorial meeting and the rest to their volleyball practice. When it was done, Shinsuke went on home, and Kiyoomi settled down to wait for his cousin and friends. His uncle had long since stopped picking him up, ever since he outed his new affair to his son. Kiyoomi had firmly told his mother that he was going to start commuting from then on, but that he will be with Motoya and Wakatoshi. She’d been hesitant, but eventually agreed. And that was that.

He lay down on the bench again and caught up with the new book he was reading. It took an hour before his friends arrived and as they walked to the exit of the school, Atsumu’s fingers brushed against the back of his hand.

They lagged behind. After checking behind him to see there was no one else there, Kiyoomi slipped his hand into Atsumu’s. The other boy caressed the back of his hand with his thumb reverently.

Right before they stepped out the gates and into the streets, Kiyoomi leaned in closed and whispered in Atsumu’s ear, “I had a crush on you too, when I first saw you.”

And he let go and caught up to Wakatoshi and Motoya ahead of him. Right before he crossed the street, he looked back to see Atsumu staring at him stunned, looking like he’d just been hit over the head with a bat. He waved at him and left.

**Atsumu** : We wasted so much time

 **Kiyoomi** : But I’d rather I have you for whatever time we have, even if it’s short, than not have had you at all.

 **Atsumu** : I’m not satisfied with that. I won’t accept it, just watch me

Can he put his faith in Atsumu?

\--

One day, in his room, Atsumu asked him to play the violin for him.

He hesitated. “I can’t.”

“I know you can,” Atsumu said. “That day in the auditorium, you were fine until you remembered there were people. It’s just me here, Omi-Omi.”

He tried to calm his pounding heart. It was just Atsumu. “Okay.”

He got up and fetched his violin, a beautiful thing manufactured in 1972 Japan. He placed the instrument under his chin again, hovered his bow hand over it. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax. Thought of Atsumu’s brown eyes, so accepting, so warm.

Then he played Paganini’s Caprice No. 5.

The piece was the most difficult he’d ever worked on so far; in fact it was probably one of the most difficult pieces in existence. He had to open his eyes again to make sure his fingers were landing on the right spots. They were flying across the fingerboard, because Paganini was a madman — it was the only explanation for his truly insane creations. How does one create this kind of music, and think, oh that sounds nice?

Kiyoomi wouldn’t describe it as nice. Paganini was a virtuoso violinist, and this piece is notorious for its high speed and difficulty, and it was played using saltando bowing. It was _wild_ , not nice.

But he was pulling it off. The moment he realized he was doing it, he fully relaxed. He started to have fun. The thing about playing high-level pieces like this was that it was so fast, there was no time to think. But hours and hours of practice turn into muscle memory, and he may not know who to believe in anymore, but he knew he believed in himself. And his hands. And his skills, which he honed himself.

When he finished the piece with a victorious upbow, he was met with shocked silence. He peeked down at Atsumu.

His boyfriend just gaped at him. “What the _hell_.”

Kiyoomi snickered and didn’t let him say another word. He played another note — the beginning of the same song he was supposed to play that day in third grade. It was “Love Theme” from Cinema Paradiso. 

He poured all his pain and anger and sadness in the music. The song was melancholic, almost tragic, but still so moving and _beautiful_ — it was one of Kiyoomi’s most favorite songs ever. 

And it sounded more beautiful than ever right then, and he was happy to finally share it with his most special person. He _loved_ music. He wanted to show Atsumu why. And one day, he wanted to show the world, too.

“You’re amazing,” Atsumu said when he was done.

Kiyoomi put the violin back in its case and crawled to where Atsumu was laying on his bed. “I used to want to be a violinist,” he whispered as if it was a secret.

“Just used to?”

“I still want to,” he admitted.

“So do it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Are you going to let your family dictate your life?” Atsumu frowned at him.

“There’s no money in music, not really…”

“Well, how would you know if you don’t try? Besides, I’ll be there, won’t I? We’ll find a way to make it work.”

“We will?” Hope surged in his heart as he imagined a future with Atsumu in it.

“We will,” Atsumu said firmly.

And despite himself, Kiyoomi believed him.

\--

Two months flew by, to Kiyoomi’s despair. He felt like something was closing in on him, and it shouldn’t make sense, because freedom was _near_.

He got accepted into all four major universities. So did Shinsuke, Wakatoshi, and Motoya. The rest of them got into one or two, including a bunch of other universities in Manila, so everyone was satisfied. Especially Atsumu — he’d gotten into his top choice.

They were all going to be in the same area. Why did he feel like he was racing against time?

Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was getting away with something he shouldn’t. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that no secret will remain uncovered forever.

They just had to make it to graduation. One more month. Just one more month and he can move to a new place, start over in a more progressive environment, work towards the life he wanted — with Atsumu.

Just one more month.

**Chapter 8**

Everything fell apart the way things were always wont to do — through one careless mistake. Just one tiny miscalculation that unraveled everything. Just one moment where Kiyoomi let go of the reigns of his control and followed his heart. A kiss, a cuddle, and careful hands cradling his waist as he sat atop Atsumu, laughing breathlessly. It was innocent. They were fully clothed. They had never gone beyond kissing because Kiyoomi was conservative and Atsumu was a gentleman when it counted. Kiyoomi leaned in again for another kiss because it was his new addiction, and then —

The sound of the door clicking open, a gasp, and glass breaking. And then terrifying, terrifying silence.

For a moment he and his mother stared at each other in horror. Atsumu was gripping his sides tight, but Kiyoomi couldn’t look away. The seconds felt like an eternity.

And then his mother’s face twisted in unprecedented fury, and she stomped over and reached out for Kiyoomi and —

And then long fingernails scratched at his scalp, tugging his hair — tugging him _by_ the hair off of Atsumu, off of the bed, and onto the floor. Atsumu was yelling, his mother was screaming and he was just trying to get his feet under him again, terrified, too pumped up to even feel the pain. At some point he stumbled and landed on his hands on the broken glass on the floor and yes, _there was the pain._

But he didn’t have time to breathe before his mother was dragging him up with all the fury she could muster and tossing him into her room and slamming the door closed.

He sat there in the silence, stunned and breathing hard.

Then, as he heard his mother screaming at Atsumu to _get out, you are not to show your face here again_ , it hit him.

He’d just ruined his life.

\--

By the time his mother returned, he had finished picking out the pieces of glass from his palms and wrapped his hands with the first aid kit in his mother’s bathroom sink. He sat at the edge of her bed, numb, waiting for deliverance.

His thoughts were scattered. Now that the day he was dreading was finally here, he didn’t know what to do or how to move. No one could save him — not God, not Atsumu, not his mother. This was his battle.

What was he going to do?

What outcome did he want?

His mother dragged her vanity chair and placed it in front of him. She sat, and he stared as she folded her hands together.

Quietly, she asked, “Where did I go wrong? Where did I go wrong in raising you?”

The words were a knife to his heart. He was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. To his mother. To his God. And to His every believer, including Kiyoomi himself.

He whispered, “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Kiyoomi, you are my son. If you can tell me that you won’t do this again, I can forgive this.”

He started crying. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Oh God,” his mother moaned and she started crying, too. She whispered, despairingly, “Baby, it’s a _sin_.”

“I know,” he sobbed. “I know. I can’t help it.”

After a while, they pulled themselves together. “I don’t know what to do,” his mother admitted. “I need some guidance. Go to your room. You are not to leave. You are not to go to class the rest of the week.”

Then she stood up and left.

After a while, he obeyed her order. As usual.

\--

What followed were slow torturous days, where his mother alternated between giving him the cold shoulder and forcing him to pray the rosary with her.

He stayed in his room. His mother had confiscated his gadgets and cut the wifi. It didn’t matter — graduation was in two weeks. All they’ve been doing lately was practice for the ceremony. He was glad to skip the mindless waste of time. And their name had influence enough that his absence would be given a pass. He wondered what his mother had told his teachers — ‘ _Sorry, my son is now well, he’s inflicted with an incurable disease’?_

Mercy delivered his meals. He wasn’t locked inside or anything, but he was disallowed from stepping out of the house, and he’d rather not run into his mother if he could help it.

When he gathered the courage to ask, Mercy looked at him pityingly and said, “None of your friends have been allowed to enter the gates. Motoya is not allowed to enter this house.”

Ah. He was a prisoner after all.

One morning, his mother let himself in and said, “It might be best you go to a local college here. There is no need for you to study all the way in Manila — there are perfectly good universities here. It will be quite a commute, but I can buy you a car of your own.”

When she left, he cried for the first since he was caught with Atsumu. He’d lost everything.

The next day, she dragged him to a church and forced him to confess. The church was empty — it was past noon on a Friday. He entered the confessional, shut the door, and waited.

After a while, the wooden panel moved.

“Father, forgive me for I have sinned. It has been ten months since my last confession.” He hasn’t been able to bring himself to do it this entire school year.

Where should he even start? When he was quiet for too long, the priest cleared his throat.

He couldn’t do it. He started crying. Loving Atsumu did not feel like a sin. He could not utter the words.

“My child, what’s wrong?” a deep, soothing voice asked. He did not know this priest. He instantly felt relieved.

“I committed no sin,” he sniffled defiantly. “Is it a sin to finally let myself be happy? To accept myself? Is it a sin to love, even though he isn’t who everyone says I should love? If God truly loved all his creations, then why does that exclude me? Just because of who I choose?”

He wiped at his face with his bandaged hands.

And then the priest said, “I see.”

Defeated, Kiyoomi said, “If this is what it means to have a God, then I want no part of it any longer. I just want to be free.”

He made to go out, but then the priest said, “Do you know what Pope Francis said when he was elected last year?”

Kiyoomi paused. He hadn’t been keeping up with the news, too caught up in his own affairs. He knew everyone loved him, though.

“He said that the Church must ‘welcome, not exclude, and show mercy, not condemnation’ to gay people. And I, for one, agree.”

Kiyoomi frowned. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Of course, he had only just been elected. It will take some time to change people’s thinking, years, perhaps even decades. After all, it’s already been ages, and yet your community is still treated unjustly. But just think — decades ago you would have been executed for your lifestyle. I do not want to give you false hope, but the world is changing day by day, child. In small towns like this, however...change comes a bit slower than most.”

“What are you saying?” he whispered.

“I’m saying there is a place for you in this world, and you should not give up. It is not as hopeless as you might think. We do not know what the future will hold, or how religion will change. But I understand if you feel betrayed by God and the church right now. I could only hope that one day, you will find it in yourself to return — not as a changed person, but one who has learned acceptance and peace.”

Speechless, Kiyoomi stared at the tiny little holes that separated him from this priest who was unexpectedly telling him the words he’d been needing to hear.

He started crying again. “Thank you. Thank you.”

By the time he went out, his tears were dry but his eyes were red and swollen. His mother studied him and wordlessly led the way out.

The past few days have worn him out and now he had new things to think about. He was lost, confused — for once he truly didn’t know what to do.

But for the first time, he knew what he _wanted_ to happen.

The question was how to get there. His biggest obstacle wasn’t God, it was his mother — because for all the grief she gave him, she was still his mother and he didn’t want to lose her.

But he didn’t want to lose himself. Not anymore.

He told himself he’d rest a few days more, practice what to say, let his mother cool off. And then they would talk.

But of course, it didn’t go that way.

Because the moment they stepped inside their home, the first person they saw was Atsumu pacing back and forth in the living room. Also standing around impatiently were Osamu, Suna, Aran, Shinsuke and Wakatoshi. Mercy stood at the sidelines, fidgeting.

They all turned when they entered. “Omi!” Atsumu exclaimed.

Kiyoomi wanted to run to him, but he forced himself back. This was bad. This was fanning the flames.

His mother hissed, “The nerve you have to show your face here again, when I specifically forbade you! How did you get in?”

Wakatoshi unapologetically said, “I let them down through my window.”

Kiyoomi shut his eyes. _Oh, Toshi._ That window was a tight fit, he didn’t know how they all managed it.

“But how did you get here in this house?” his mother demanded. “Mercy?”

Mercy lifted her chin. “I let them in.”

His mother’s face turned red. “You —”

“Sachi, I helped raise you since you were a teen. And I helped raise Kiyoomi, too. I was there when _you_ weren’t. And I can tell you that the boy has never been happy until recently. And you took that away. It’s wrong, Sachi. He has been crying for days. For God’s sake, his hands were bleeding! What have you done? How could you have done this?”

“That was an accident,” his mother said in a low voice. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“You hurt him!” Atsumu burst out furiously. “You dragged him by the hair and out the door! And who knows what you did to him after!”

And then footsteps thundered in and his uncle boomed out, “What is going on? I heard there were intruders?”

Motoya was at his father’s heels. “I told you they’re not intruders!” he snapped. “They’re our friends!”

His other cousin, Tameesha, was also rushing in. “What in the world is going on? Auntie, you barred us all from entering here, and we want to know why. And why Uncle has been yelling about a break in.”

Kiyoomi could not believe what was happening. Would it be bad if he locked himself in his room right about now?

“Nothing is going on,” his mother snapped. “We’re settling some personal business, get out of here.”

“This family is my business,” his uncle said.

“Wow,” Motoya said derisively. “This family has not been your business the moment you buried your dick in some other woman that wasn’t Mom!”

Kiyoomi gaped at Motoya in shock. Then he exchanged wide-eyed glances with Wakatoshi.

“Holy shit,” Suna muttered. “This was not what I expected when I came here.”

Atsumu took advantage of the strange distraction to go to Kiyoomi. He gently touched his hands. “How bad is it?” he murmured.

“Not bad.” Then it hit him full force that Atsumu was _here_. He threw his arms around his shoulders and hugged tight. Atsumu wrapped his arms around his waist and squeezed until Kiyoomi wheezed out a little hysterical laugh. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Me neither, but I missed you, fuck.”

Then his mother screamed, “Get away from my baby!”

Atsumu dragged Kiyoomi back, shouting back, “You get away!”

Tameesha said, “Wait, is that what this is about? That Kiyoomi is gay? I knew since he was a kid, what the hell.”

“What?” his uncle said, off-guard. Then his face twisted. “You disgusting —”

He was cut off when Motoya punched him across the face. He staggered back until his back hit the wall. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, you sanctimonious bastard, I am sick of you and how you destroy people and _families_!”

Wakatoshi strode over and dragged Motoya back to where the rest of their friends were standing, looking vaguely alarmed and confused. “Toya, breathe.”

Kiyoomi let go of Atsumu. He felt like he needed to do something because everything was spiraling out of control. But before he could even speak, his mother asked him coldly, “So is this what you choose, Kiyoomi? Will you really throw it all away for some boy? You’re _18_. You have the rest of your life ahead of you and I am offering to give you everything! I only want the best for you, baby. I _love_ you.”

“Then _why are you making me choose_?” he finally shouted. He’d never raised his tone at his mother, ever. “God! How can you still not understand? It’s not about the ‘boy,’ it’s not about God, it’s — it’s _you_!”

His mother looked offended. “Me? Why is this my fault? How dare you speak to me that way — it’s those friends of yours, isn’t it? They’ve demonized you, get away from them —” she started to stride over to them but Tameesha got in her way.

“Can you stop, Auntie? What is wrong with you? Why can’t you see it? Your precious son?” Tameesha pointed at Kiyoomi without looking at him. She jabbed a finger in his direction. “He’s _depressed_. He’s fucking suicidal!”

His mother and Mercy gasped.

“What? Kiyoomi, what is the meaning of this? Are you not right in the mind?”

Kiyoomi pressed a hand to his forehead, a lump building in his throat. _Of course_ that was what she was going to say.

“Oh wonderful, your son is gay _and_ a nutcase. You win this one, Sachi,” his uncle sneered from where he was prodding at his jaw. “You’re never living this down.”

A strong arm rested over his shoulders. Kiyoomi turned his head and rested his forehead against Wakatoshi’s chest and gave up on holding back tears. They soaked through his shirt.

This was his worst nightmare come to life. He’s been pushed to his limits — he just wanted it all to end.

“Well, why wouldn’t anyone say anything to me?” His mother sounded alarmed now. “Do we need to take him to an institution? How do you know he’s suicidal, did he tell you?”

“ _He_ doesn’t tell anyone _anything_ because _you_ conditioned him to just take everything and never complain. I had to catch him in the middle of a breakdown before he told me. Oh, don’t look so betrayed, why the hell would he tell you? When _I_ had a mental breakdown and said I heard voices in my head, it was _you_ who called over the priest to exorcise me!” Tameesha was screaming now. “I hate you! You’ve ruined my life! People in this town call me a fucking witch! And you know what? I can still hear the goddamn voices!”

“Fuck, I’m done with this,” his uncle said, making his way to the door. “I’m leaving this fucking family, you’re all insane.”

Motoya yelled, “Good fucking riddance!” And then the door slammed.

In the ensuing silence, all eyes returned to Kiyoomi’s mother. She had tears in her eyes and she looked shocked, hurt. “Did my brother just walk out on our family? And my niece apparently loathes me, my son hates me, and everything thinks I’m the devil? I only tried to do right by everyone.”

Kiyoomi lifted his head and stared at his mother and it was like he felt her pain. He never wanted to hurt her. He didn’t want to _fight_. He just wanted her to _understand_. He was so tired.

He brushed off Wakatoshi’s arm and started making his way to her. Tameesha felt his approach, and respectfully backed away.

He crossed the floor to get to her and lowered himself down on his knees. Tears were still dripping down his cheeks, and his breath was hitching. “I don’t _hate_ you. I love you. And I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I have to be this way. I tried so hard to be the perfect son you wanted, but I kept disappointing you anyway. If I could then I would just swallow everything down and deny who I am, but I _can’t_. I’ve _tried_. Why can’t you ever look at me and just be satisfied with what you saw? Just _look_ at me. It _hurts_. You’re _hurting_ me. I don’t know how much more of this I can take, _please_.”

“I don’t understand,” his mother finally said, helplessly. Tears started falling from her eyes. “I thought I did everything right. You were all I had, I wanted to give you everything.”

“And I am grateful for everything you’ve given me. I know you had to raise me on your own. But I’m sorry, Ma, I’m sorry. Because I want nothing of the life you planned for me.”

His mother stared at him like nothing was making sense to her. “It’s what’s best for you —”

“What _you_ think is best for me is _killing_ me,” he finally sobbed out with a pained moan. He raised his hands to curl around hers, beseeching. “I think of the life you want me to lead and it makes me sick to my stomach. I think about drinking all the pills you have in your medicine cabinet and just sleeping forever, because that would be the easiest way out. Because I couldn’t face you, I couldn’t stand your disappointment, and I miss Grandmother but I’m _so glad she’s dead_.” There were gasps. He ignored them. “It would have broken my heart to see the disgust on her face if she saw what I grew up to be. It _haunts_ me. You and Grandmother had my life plotted out before I was even born and I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ but I don’t want it. I wish you never had me.”

“Don’t say that.” Anger bled into his mother’s voice.

“But it’s how _I feel_. I can’t help how I feel, and I can’t help what I am. Can’t you love me this way, Mama? Will I just keep breaking your heart? I just want to be happy without feeling guilty about it. I just want to get _out_ of here. Please let me _out of here_.”

His mother searched his face, tears still falling down her cheeks. She looked almost horrified.

“I can’t possibly...you’re so young, you don’t know what you’re asking.” She sounded distressed now.

“I don’t claim to know what’s best for me. I don’t know anything outside of this tiny world you’ve kept me in. You’ve controlled me for most of my life; I’m just asking you to please let go. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to _leave_ you. I just want to _breathe_.”

“I just — I don’t understand the choice you’re trying to make, Kiyoomi.”

“Why does it have to be a choice? Why is that having one thing always means I have to lose another? Can’t I do what I want and _not_ lose my family? Can’t I be loved without conditions? Can’t it be enough that I exist? I’m so tired, Ma.”

His mother pressed her hands against her cheeks. There were footsteps behind him and a hand brushed against his hair. Mercy said, “Does this not sound familiar to you, Sachi? Don’t you see yourself in him?”

Letting out a sob, his mother lowered herself down on her knees, too, in front of him. “When did I become my mother?”

“Probably when she died,” Mercy said heavily. “You told me once you never wanted to be like her. Fix this, Sachi.” With that, the elderly lady shuffled off, into the direction of the kitchen.

Fingers touched his chin and turned his face. He met his mother’s gaze. “Alright. I’m listening. What do you want?”

Faced with the unexpected question, Kiyoomi blinked at her. What did he want? There were many things, but which were negotiable? Which were most likely to be allowed? He whispered, “I don’t know where to start.”

“Think about that then we’ll talk,” his mother said firmly. She faltered. “I can’t promise that I will be okay with it all. This is...this is hard for me to accept. All of this. I need some time to think, this is just too much for me, baby...but I promise I will try. Okay?”

He started crying again. “That’s already more than I expected to get.”

Pain flashed in his mother’s face. She crushed him into a hug. “You were always so silent and strong,” she said sadly. “I didn’t realize the burden you’ve been carrying. I’m sorry. I need you to hold on a little longer, okay? I just need some time.”

Time. He could do that. He’d already been waiting his whole life. He could stand a little more, if it meant he could get everything.

**Chapter 9**

His mother took him to a mental institution.

Kiyoomi was just relieved she didn’t take him to an exorcist.

He left the facility with antidepressants and instructions to return for weekly therapy sessions. He wasn’t in immediate danger of offing himself, but he was going to have to hand over anything that could be used to harm himself.

He was encouraged to get back into yoga. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped or that he’d been sleeping more and more lately. He thought of the many times his friends woke him up asking why he kept sleeping in, and wondered how he missed the warning signs.

Oh, well. Mental illness wasn’t a popular topic where he lived. Honestly, it was rather taboo. Uncle Jong was right, his mother was never going to live this down.

After taking him to a psychologist, his mother returned his gadgets and left him alone for a few days. He didn’t know where she went, but she asked that he stay in. He had no problem with that. He felt permanently exhausted. If possible, he kept sleeping _more_. It was probably his meds.

He powered up his phone and tried his best to read through a week’s worth of unread messages. He skimmed through the group chat, warmed when he read the furious back and forth and the ridiculous planning that led to them climbing down from Wakatoshi’s window. Those idiots.

Then he took a deep breath and opened Atsumu’s messages.

**Atsumu** : I’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry

 **Atsumu** : I was careless fuck please tell me you’re okay please

 **Atsumu** : Omi please 

**Atsumu** : Omi?

 **Atsumu** : I’m so sorry this is all my fault

**Atsumu** : You weren’t in school again. I’m so scared omi please

**Atsumu** : I tried to visit but they wouldn’t let me in

 **Atsumu** : I just need to know you’re okay

 **Atsumu** : Even motoya doesnt know what’s happening. Everyone is worried

**Atsumu** : I’m getting you out of there

**Atsumu** : I just got home. Sorry if we made a mess, we just needed to see you. I’m happy to have been able to hold you no matter how briefly

 **Atsumu** : I can’t stop crying. everytime i remember you crying, i cry too. You dont deserve this

 **Atsumu** : You deserve to be unconditionally loved

 **Atsumu** : I want you to know that I see you and I love you and you don’t have to do anything at all. It makes me happy just knowing that you exist in this world. Please don’t take yourself out of it, i won’t be able to handle it

 **Atsumu** : I hope you get to read my messages soon. I hope I can talk to you soon

 **Atsumu** : I miss you.

Kiyoomi didn’t reply to any of them. They just witnessed all of his family’s mess — worst of all, they saw him at his lowest point. He wanted to bury his face in his pillow in mortification. He couldn’t face them. Not yet.

He didn’t even get to see them leave that day. Mercy had ushered them all out when he and his mother were hugging, and they had left quietly.

He wondered how much of all this drama had gotten out. Motoya’s father really did walk out on them, dumping his things in his pick up and driving out the gates. But other than that, he didn’t know what had been going on.

And then his mother finally knocked on his door and quietly let herself in. She climbed on his bed and he groggily sat up. She scooted over until she had her back on the headboard and patted her lap. He curled up by her legs and rested his head on her lap. She started stroking his hair.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I learned I was pregnant with you?” she asked.

He shook his head. When he was young, she had told him who his father was by showing him pictures, but she was clear about him not wanting to take responsibility. That was all he knew about him.

His mother hummed. “Let’s go way back. You see, I was very in love with your father. We met when we were 19. I was sure I was going to marry him and spend my life with him. And then, when we were 20, he went and joined the military academy.”

He paid rapt attention. The military academy was situated in the northern part of the country. It was hours and hours away. And cadets don’t get to just leave in the course of their studies. They were stuck there for four years.

“That had always been his plan, of course. I knew that. But it was only when he was already there that I learned I was pregnant with you. Now, the academy has a rule about cadets not having children. But I figured I should tell him, anyway. I didn’t know who else to turn to. Me, a young, unmarried woman, pregnant? It was a disgrace. So I hopped on a bus and went to him. The commute back in the day was a struggle, nothing like how it is now. But I did it. And when I got there, and I told him, you know what he said?

“Nothing. He said nothing at all. He stared blankly at me and didn’t move, didn’t talk. Until I felt silly and turned and ran. I ran and ran and ran for such a long time. I didn’t know where I was going. Somehow I found a bus and made it back home. Weeks later, I received a letter from him saying that he couldn’t take responsibility, because his career was a priority. And that was that. I believed in his promises, gave myself to him, and it all for naught.

“But your Auntie Hanna found that letter. She had just gotten married to Jong at the time, you know. And she was shocked and upset and let it slip to our parents.

“Daddy was so upset, he kept banging his fist on the table and acting like his youngest child had been killed. Mommy was frothing at the mouth, screaming about me being a whore, an embarrassment. They disowned me.”

“What?” He stared wide-eyed at his wall.

“They did. I stayed with the Ushijimas for weeks. And when everyone calmed down, they took me back. Mommy spoke to me, and said that she was willing to adopt you. They would hide my pregnancy and claim you as their child. They were giving me the easiest way out. It was very different back then. Society wasn’t kind to women who give birth out of wedlock. Especially since the father is nowhere in sight.

“I said no to their offer. I didn’t even consider it. Because I already loved you so much. And I didn’t care how hard it was going to be for me — you were going to be my son, and I was going to be your mother. And that was all.

“It was my choice and they just had to accept it. They came around eventually. But they didn’t allow me to leave the house because I was already showing.

“Well, everyone eventually found out anyway. But by then I didn’t care. I was so happy to meet you. It pained me but I had to let Mommy take care of you, because I had to work to earn money for us. I didn’t want my parents to think any lower of me — I already made the worst mistake they could possibly think of, I wasn’t about to take their money. I had to prove I can stand on my own two feet. That I can raise you.

“I guess...I got used to thinking it was just you and me. I remembered when I was pregnant, I would cry because everything was a mess, but I would place a hand over my belly and feel you, and I would smile too. People would sneer at me on the street. Whispers would follow me. My parents looked at me in disappointment. But I told myself to endure all that pain because there’s a bright future waiting for us. I promised that you would never suffer the way I did. That you would live a good life and never know pain. That I wouldn’t be like my mother, whom I loved, but God. She was...she was a nightmare.

“I keep forgetting that you’re not my little boy anymore. It’s hard for me to accept that I should let you make your own mistakes, too. I keep wanting to protect you from everything. And this path...Oh, baby, your path is going to be even harder than mine had been. That’s so hard for me to swallow. My problem back then was just this town, and it was already hell. Your problem is the entire _world_. How can I let you out of there?”

Tears were slowly dripping across Kiyoomi’s face, soaking his mother’s pants. He didn’t know what to say.

“Your relationship with God is not my business. I am in no place to judge people who sin, because I committed sin, too, when I conceived you. After much contemplation, I realized that you are still my son no matter what you are, and I love you regardless of sexuality. But how can I protect you from everyone else?”

He whispered, “You’re going to have to let me fight my own battles, too, Ma.”

His mother sighed. “I know, I know. It’s just...it will take time for me to let you go. You’re my baby. But I’ll work on it, okay? Because I don’t want to lose you. You have to be patient with me.” She was silent for a moment then she sighed again. “What else?”

He said, softly, “I don’t want to be a doctor or a lawyer, Ma. I want to be a musician.”

“Oh,” his mother said in relief. “That one’s easy — go for it. Mommy wanted me to be a nurse, but I took up business instead. And well, you know how that ended up.” His mother now owns and runs a pharmaceutical company. It has several branches across the province. She hummed. “There’s not much money in music, unless you really make it big and become a soloist but...well, I can always support you.”

“I don’t want that, Ma.”

His mother huffed. “Well, who am I going to spend money on? You’re my only son. Just let me help when I can. And the business will be yours for the taking in the future, if you ever want it. Don’t decide right now. Don’t say no, don’t scratch it out. Just know you have options, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What else do you want?”

He swallowed, his chest tightening. He whispered, “Atsumu.”

For a few terrifying seconds, his mother was silent. Then she chuckled wryly. “I suppose if I had to choose anyone to stand beside you, it would be Atsumu. That boy is quite something.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but smile. “You have no idea.”

“You should have heard the things he said to me that day. He was furious, protective. I would have been impressed if I wasn’t so angry myself. If he’s willing to fight for you like that, then...alright.”

His smile turned into a helpless grin, even as tears continued to drip from his eyes.

“I’m sorry I hurt you that day, baby. I just got so angry. I was shocked and betrayed and it was more the thought of you being defiled and keeping secrets that got to me more than anything. I just reacted.”

He groaned in embarrassment. “There was no _defiling_. Please don’t ever say that word again.”

“Are you telling me that boy is a _gentleman_?” she asked suspiciously.

“He _is_ , actually. To me, anyway.”

She snorted. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone was going to capture and tame the school heartthrob, of course it would be my boy.”

“Ma,” he groaned.

“He has good taste,” she said firmly. “And he better stand by you. I have trust issues with men. I’ll be keeping an eye on him. I’ll be watching his every move.”

Well, he couldn’t exactly hold that against her.

“Although,” she continued. “I suppose he already did more than you father ever did for me. Damn it, the bar is set really low.”

A beat. Then they both burst out laughing.

And then they were crying and hugging.

After all this time, was he actually allowed to have everything?

His mother held his face and looked at him in the eye. “But honey, I have a few conditions about your relationship with Atsumu. It won’t be easy.”

He was willing to take any of her demands at this point. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Lay it on me.”

**Chapter 10**

Kiyoomi was anxious.

But he thought he had every right to be — today was graduation day.

And today was also the first time he’s stepping into school in two weeks, and the first time he was going to see his friends since they broke into their house. He hadn’t even replied to any of them yet. Not even Motoya, or Wakatoshi. Especially not Atsumu. He put it off too long that he figured a personal apology would be the only way to make up for it.

And Atsumu...that one required a long conversation.

He didn’t want to attend the ceremony at all, but it was important to his mother. She wanted to place the medal on his neck if he won an award, which she was already anticipating that he would.

He sighed and indulged her. He let her style his hair, let her choose his clothes, but he utterly refused to wear a suit and tie. It was graduation, not a funeral, and he was going to be wearing a toga over it, anyway. But she said they were going out to celebrate somewhere fancy after. They finally settled on a casual black blazer, white shirt, black jeans, and oxford shoes.

Her mother pulled out all the stops, though. She donned a long-sleeved black dress with a sweetheart neckline, and even curled her naturally straight hair. When she twirled in front of him and asked, “Well?” he gaped at her and said, “Ma, where are we going really?”

She laughed and said, “It’s a special day!”

He was _not_ looking forward to his classmates muttering about his mother being a MILF. Oh God.

He told her, “We look alike.” And they did. His mother was young, only 39, but she looked even younger, especially because she was short. He was a lot taller than her even though she was wearing heels. They could be mistaken for siblings.

She smiled like that was the biggest compliment he could have given her.

When he stepped out of the house, a van was waiting there and beside it stood Motoya, Tameesha, and Aunt Hanna. 

For a moment they all stared at each other. They were all dressed up and it was then Kiyoomi realized — it was a statement.

Word about his uncle leaving must have gotten out already, and god knows what else. His stomach turned in anxiety. But he looked at his family members, whose faces were suddenly solemn, and steeled himself. They were used to putting on a facade. They can handle one day. They had to look put together so that the rumors will fade all the more quicker.

He approached Motoya, who was glaring at him. He must be upset by the cold shoulder. “Looking good,” he told his cousin, mostly to annoy him. Motoya glared harder.

“I will chew you out later,” he hissed. “For now let’s get to school. We’re already cutting it too close.”

“Ma took forever dressing up,” he muttered.

“Do you even know what to do when we get there?”

“Kind of? Not really.”

Motoya sighed. “I’m sure they’ll brief you really quickly when we get there. I hope nothing’s changed in the week I was gone.”

“You were pulled out of school, too?”

“Yeah. I mean mom was...you know.”

Right.

The ride was tense and quiet. Kiyoomi watched the digital clock on the dashboard with increasing anxiety. Were they even going to make it?

They barely did. When they hurried to the gymnasium, the graduating class was already lined up outside, getting ready to enter. The teachers were doing a roll call of names. Everyone was already wearing their togas.

When their adviser called, “Komori? Where is Komori, is he still not here?”

“Here!” Motoya called out, and Kiyoomi wanted to strangle him because everyone collectively turned and watched them approach. They were still a ways away so it felt like forever. It was the most awkward thing he’d ever experienced.

He ignored the burning stares and kept his eyes forward.

“Komori, Sakusa, you’re late. Hurry, wear your togas,” the adviser said, waving a hand towards a table set up near the entrance.

His mother quickened her footsteps and approached, smile at the ready. “We are so sorry, Christo,” she told their teacher. She hugged him in greeting. “We had car troubles.”

Kiyoomi exchanged glances with his cousins. His Aunt Hanna rolled her eyes.

But their teacher was already smiling and shaking his head. “Not a problem, Sachi. Now let me show you to your seats…” he led his mother away, followed by Tameesha and Aunt Hanna.

“See you up there, honey!” she called back to Kiyoomi, waving a hand goodbye.

She was so embarrassing sometimes. He kept his face impassive, whirled on his heel and headed to the table to get his toga. He ignored Motoya snickering behind him.

Another teacher took over the roll call. By the time she was done, he and Motoya were wearing their togas.

“Kiyoomi, with me,” she said. He followed her obediently to the entrance of the gym and listened as she pointed and gave him a rundown of what was going to happen, and all the spots he was going to stop on. There were markers, so it shouldn’t be an issue. He did manage to attend the first week of graduation practice.

“And no surprises in your speech,” she told him sternly. Just then the music started. “Go line up, hurry, you’re all going in now.”

He stalked to his spot in the back, imaging that he was an impenetrable wall. That he couldn’t feel people staring, that he couldn’t feel Atsumu and his friends’ heavy gaze on him as he passed. There will be time later. He did not want to make a scene.

The ceremony was boring, but it went by quickly. There were only sixty of them after all. His mother was pleased — Kiyoomi received not just one, but four awards.

Before he knew it, the principal was saying, “...to close today’s ceremony, we would like to call on this year’s valedictorian, Kiyoomi Sakusa.”

He returned to the stage and shook the principal’s hand. The old man smiled at him. “Well-deserved,” he said.

Kiyoomi wondered if he and the other staff would still be pleased with him when they realize his speech isn’t anything close to what he’d submitted weeks ago.

Well, it wasn’t his fault his life has drastically changed.

He took the podium and unfolded a piece of paper he’d tucked in his pocket. He kicked off his with the expected greetings and the typical _‘we’ve had an unforgettable 12 years together here, but now we must go our separate ways.’_ It was impersonal, and utter bullshit. Everyone knew it.

So when it was time for him to say inspiring words to encourage his batchmates, he paused for a couple seconds to reaffirm himself of what he wanted to do. He glanced briefly at his classmates, who were looking at him curiously now, and at his family, and at his teachers behind him on stage. His adviser’s eyes widened in mild alarm.

He decided to push on.

He said, “You know that thing we say, when something good happens — ‘Wow, it’s a miracle.’ Or when we want something so badly, we say, ‘Let’s hope for a miracle’? I hate that.” He paused. “I _really_ hate that.”

His audience sat straighter. Good. He had their attention.

“Don’t get me wrong, I believe that it’s good to have faith. But it completely invalidates all the hard work and effort that we put into achieving our goals, into reaching for our dreams. Someone once told me, ‘It’s all a load of crap, if you want something you gotta work for it yourself. You can’t just be sitting there waiting for something to happen.’ And he was right, even though I poured dinuguan over his head for being so rude.”

His classmates all turned on their seats to stare at Atsumu, who was looking back at Kiyoomi wide-eyed.

“I think what really got to me that day wasn’t said person’s nerve to say that to me, because it was something I already believed in. It was the fact that if I were being honest, I _wasn’t_ working for what I wanted.”

And here comes the hard part. He mentally apologized to his ancestors and bid goodbye to his reputation. But this was a topic that needed to be touched on, because he doubted he was the only one who has suffered.

“You see, when I was 13, I tried to kill myself.” There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor behind him. He turned around and raised his hand at his frowning adviser as if to halt him. _Wait, just trust me_. The principal touched his teacher’s arm, a silent _let him talk._

He turned back and faced his gaping classmates. “I stood at the edge of this dam and told myself to just let go. Just let myself fall, and it will be over. I’ll be at peace. It was going to be the _easiest_ thing. But then...I couldn’t do it. I just couldn't. I didn’t have the courage to. Even there, I failed — I couldn’t follow through. And there was one second when I tried to step back and stepped on a rock, and I got unbalanced and I thought, ‘Oh my God, I’m going to die.’ And I was surprised when I realized I _really_ didn’t want that. Obviously, I didn’t fall, I’m unfortunately still very much alive. But I always kept that plan as a last resort. I’d sometimes think to myself, if I really can’t take it anymore, then I will just jump. I will go back up there and finish the job.

“And I told myself that for years and _years_. Because what I didn’t anticipate was the fact that I was apparently stronger than I thought. That I could take blow after blow and somehow still find reason to keep holding on.

“But still, I continued to live life as if I was in limbo. I went through the motions, and did everything that was expected of me, never complaining, never resisting. Never going for, or even asking for what I really want. And I might have poured water on Atsumu Miya’s head, but I was the one who woke up. Still, it took a lot of drama, a lot of heartbreak, and a lot of tears before I could face my problems head on. It took a lot of courage. It took a lot of risk. But I did it.

“Was it a miracle that I didn’t trip and fall off the edge that day when I was 13? Maybe. But I think the real miracle was that I didn’t jump in the first place. That I found it in myself to think, ‘No. I won’t take the easy way out. I will continue to live an everyday struggle instead.’ The miracle is that I’m standing here right now. That I’m still breathing and that I _mean_ it. And it’s not because of God. It’s because of me.

“What I’m trying to say is that it’s only going to get harder from here. As we leave this tiny bubble we’ve stayed in for most of our lives, I’m sure we’ll see that life is a lot harder than we’d ever prepared for. But I also want you to know that every time you think ‘I can’t do it anymore, I’ve had enough’... there will always be an annoying, nagging voice saying, ‘Don’t you dare give up.’ And it won’t be coming from the heavens, it will be coming from inside you.

“You see, the mind can bend and break under enough pressure. But I think the heart can withstand almost anything. I know it’s easier said than done, but don’t give up. Through it all, find it within yourself to stand your ground. And should you fall, then stand up. Again and again. Things _will_ get better. Maybe not for a while, maybe not for years, but they will. Take it from me. That’s all I have to say. Thank you.” He paused. “Oh, and fuck you to that classmate who told me to kill myself. You lose. Bye.”

He threw a peace sign to his shell-shocked adviser as he exited the stage. Once he stepped on the ground, the gym burst in applause and incredulous laughter. He knew what they were thinking: he snapped. Maybe he did, but he also didn’t care. He was satisfied.

Wakatoshi, who sat by the aisle, held a hand up as he passed. He slapped it. And that was all the apology he needed to give to his oldest friend.

Later, he’ll fix everything with the others. He had time. He had the rest of his life.

\--

His mother wouldn’t stop crying. She sobbed and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue as he returned his toga.

“Now look what you’ve done, we can’t take pictures with me looking like this,” she sniffled.

“Oh my God, Auntie, give it a rest,” Tameesha hissed. “People are staring.”

“They’re staring at my handsome baby boy who gave the best valedictorian speech ever.”

“They’re staring at a nutcase,” Aunt Hanna said drily.

“Don’t call him that!”

He exchanged glances with Motoya and they silently agreed to get out of there.

His mother finally pulled herself together and they made a beeline from the gym to the van waiting in the drop off area. The crowd parted for them. He guided his mother in, and after a brief conversation with her, he shut the van doors.

There was still something he had to do.

“Omi!” Atsumu called out. He sounded furious.

Shit.

He turned to see Atsumu shoving his way across the crowd. Their other friends were hurrying after him, apologizing for the rudeness.

When he escaped the crowd, Atsumu stopped a few feet away from him, breathing hard.

“So what? That’s it?”

“Atsumu —”

“After everything, you’re just going to ignore me and disappear without a sound? Did I fuck everything up? Because I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have gone to your house that day, but I had to, okay?”

Kiyoomi flicked his eyes at all the people watching from behind Atsumu. Shinsuke stepped forward, probably to calm Atsumu down, but he was held back by Suna.

This was exactly what he was trying to avoid.

“And you fucking know what,” Atsumu barrelled on. “I don’t care what you or your family think. I told you that I’m not settling for such a short time with you and I meant it. Tell your mother she can’t get rid of me. I’m fighting for you, damn it. Because I fucking love you, okay?”

Kiyoomi looked down, horribly touched but also horribly amused. He wanted to cry and laugh. He opted for the latter. He muffled his giggling with a hand.

“And I — are you laughing at me?” Atsumu sounded amazed. “Seriously? Right now?”

“What is going on?” someone demanded.

Kiyoomi looked up and finally, finally walked towards Atsumu, who was still glaring at him.

“I’m not going to let you give this up,” he told Kiyoomi, upset. “You —”

Kiyoomi grabbed him by the face and kissed him. He closed his eyes and relished at finally, finally being able to do this without fear. Then he pulled back and studied Atsumu’s stunned expression.

“Omi,” he whispered. “There are people, aren’t you —”

“You talk too much, Tsumu. And as always you’re so embarrassing.” Overcome with fondness, he kissed him again.

Atsumu wrapped his arms around his waist, dragging him close, and kissing him back forcefully. “God, I missed you,” he murmured against Kiyoomi’s lips when they slowed down. Then he pulled back and asked, “Okay, but what is going on?”

Kiyoomi looped his arms around his shoulders. “Well,” he began. “Before you came barging out here like an idiot, I was just on my way to find you and the others.”

He tilted his head to look at his gaping friends over Atsumu’s shoulder. “You are all invited for a post-graduation celebration.”

“I — we came here with family…” Aran said, looking flummoxed.

“Bring them with you. Our treat.”

“Can you just fucking tell us if everything is fine now?” Osamu demanded.

He grinned brightly. “Yes, everything is fine now.” He looked at Atsumu, whose face was filled with hope. “Oh, but my mother has conditions.”

“What conditions?” Atsumu asked, looking like he was ready to do just about anything.

“She wants a formal courtship. She’s old-fashioned like that. Also, I think she just wants the chance to chaperone us and terrify you.”

There was the sound of a window sliding open. “You are already breaking the rules of the courtship, children.”

Atsumu hastily let go of Kiyoomi and took a large step back. “Auntie! I —”

“Save it for later. Get inside the van, let’s go celebrate, everyone.”

“Um, we all have cars, so we’ll meet you there…?”

“Alright, Kiyoomi will text you the details. Come inside now, honey.” The window slid closed.

Kiyoomi looked at Atsumu and laughed at his expression. Then he laughed again when Osamu dropped down to crouch on the floor, looking exhausted, and fervently said, “Oh thank God. _Thank you God_.”

He kissed Atsumu on the cheek. “Thank you. I needed to hear that. I love you.”

Atsumu gazed at him speechlessly in adoration.

“See you in a bit,” he prodded.

“Yeah, see you,” Atsumu whispered, still awestruck. “I love you, too.”

He never doubted that.

\--

“So you’re the boy my son has been crushing on since he was 12,” Atsumu’s mother told him during the party.

They had blocked off an entire section of Kiyoomi’s favorite restaurant for the occasion and all his friends were here, along with their families. The air was lively and filled with chatter and laughter. In one table, he sat with Atsumu and his family and tried not to be too awkward. His mother was off bonding with his friends’ parents.

“Er, so he says,” he replied. “I thought he was just being a sweet talker.”

Osamu snorted and Atsumu made a protesting noise.

Their mother smiled, amused. “Oh believe me, it was true. For a while though I thought he got over it. Imagine my shock when he came home crying one day, saying that you’ve been taken away from him.”

“Right...that.” He looked sideways at Atsumu, who smiled at him sheepishly. “Mama and I just had issues we had to work through.”

“I hope everything is fine now.” She sounded concerned.

“Everything is fine,” he assured.

“And the whole...depression thing?”

Atsumu looked at him intently. 

“I’m getting treatment. They put me on medication, so...it’s fine?”

“But are you feeling better?” Atsumu asked, frowning.

“I don’t know? It wasn’t like I was feeling _bad_ before…I don’t know, it’s weird. Stop bugging me.”

“Oh, I’m bugging you alright because you’ve been ignoring all my messages for weeks.”

“It was just two weeks. My mom took my phone.”

“And when did she return it?”

Kiyoomi was suddenly very interested in his food.

“I would also like to know this because we saw that you read your messages,” Osamu added.

“I would also like to know,” Shinsuke said, taking a seat, followed by the rest of their friends.

“Well, dear cousin? When did Auntie lift your house arrest?” Motoya asked.

Kiyoomi glared at him. “Those are two different things.” When they all stared at him unimpressed, he muttered, “Like a week ago, maybe.”

“Wow,” Atsumu said.

Kiyoomi frowned at him. “I’ve been adjusting to my meds.”

“Sure.”

“Really. I’ve been sleeping a lot.”

“Even more than before?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “I was sleeping a lot because I was apparently depressed and the meds make me drowsier. I’m barely awake. I’m a zombie.”

“And there was no other reason.”

He scooped up a bit of the cake he’d been picking on. “This is my favorite, you should try it.”

“Omi —” He jammed a spoonful of cake in Atsumu’s mouth.

“Good, right?”

“Well, that’s one way to shut him up,” Suna commented.

“Do you like it?”

Atsumu wiped his mouth with a tissue. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Many, many things.”

“Are you sure about this guy, bro?” Osamu asked.

“Yes, shut the hell up.” Atsumu licked his lips. “That cake _is_ good.”

\--

Kiyoomi rose to consciousness slowly. His head was pillowed on jean-clad thighs and strong fingers stroked through his hair. Chatter surrounded him and he frowned lightly.

“Hey, hey, hey, Atsumu!” a familiar voice called out. A schoolmate. Atsumu’s classmate. “You and the boyfriend up for drinks tonight?”

“Not sure.” Atsumu’s voice soothed him. “He seems tired today.”

He blinked himself fully awake and turned his head a little. “It’s fine,” he murmured. “You can go if you want.”

The fingers stroked across his hairline. “Let’s see later.” He addressed his friend. “Mind if I invite some other people?”

“Go ahead! I love meeting new people! Let me know if you can make it,” the boy said. He heard footsteps recede.

He shifted on the hard ground so he could look up at Atsumu. “I fell asleep.”

“It’s okay. No one cares.”

“You want to go?”

Atsumu hummed. “Not particularly? But I do like some of the guys in my block, I want them to meet you.”

“They’ve met me.”

“Yeah, but just once or something,” Atsumu insisted. “They’re curious and I want to show you off.”

Kiyoomi reached up a hand and Atsumu bent his head down obediently to press a light kiss on his lips.

“Okay,” Kiyoomi finally said. “Only if you meet my friends.”

“I’ve been asking to meet them and you keep saying no!”

“Because they weren’t really my friends yet. Besides you’d spook them. Or annoy them. You’re annoying, Tsumu.”

Atsumu pouted. “Who are they again?”

“Hmm. There’s Kenma and Keiji... Oh, and Suga.”

“Keiji…” Atsumu mused. “Keiji Akaashi? I think that’s the one Samu has been crushing on. Babe! You should invite them, too!”

“Don’t go matchmaking.”

“I’m doing no such thing. I just want all our friends to be friends. I’ll invite Samu and Suna and the others, too.”

Kiyoomi sighed. “I’ll tell them, we have the next class together.”

Just then the bell rang and Atsumu helped him sit up.

When they were on their feet, Kiyoomi took Atsumu’s hand. “Walk me to class?” Atsumu still had a two-hour break before his next one.

“Of course, Omi-Omi.”

When they reached his classroom, there were stragglers out in the hall, including Kenma and Keiji. He tugged Atsumu towards their direction.

“Kiyoomi,” Keiji greeted politely. “Let’s all sit together.”

“Sure,” he said, and pulled Atsumu to stand beside him. “This is Atsumu, my boyfriend.”

“Hello,” Atsumu greeted, grinning brightly. He seemed to be toning himself down.

Kenma nodded at him and Keiji said, “Nice to meet you.”

Kiyoomi turned to Atsumu. “Okay, go away now.”

Atsumu kissed him on the cheek. “See you later, love.” He pressed a final kiss on his hand before letting it go. He left and Kiyoomi watched him go, watched the sneaky stares of some girls he passed by.

He turned back to his new friends who were looking at him rather judgmentally.

“Don’t say anything,” he said sullenly.

“I didn’t take you for someone who’d go for the heartthrob jock,” Kenma said. “You have disappointed me.”

“Isn’t that rooster-haired dude with the donkey laugh your boyfriend?”

Kenma was silent for a second. “You’re right, I can’t talk, I’m stuck with the worst of them all.”

Keiji sighed. “At least you all have someone.”

Kiyoomi smirked. “About that…”

As he listened to his music theory professor, he thought of how he’s studying in his dream university now, surrounded by people from all walks of life, who are more open and accepting — and hell, even weirder than he was.

He thought of how he’ll be seeing Atsumu in no time at all, as well as their old friends, who will now get to meet their new ones. Later, he’ll text his mother all about what happened today, and she’ll tease him about Atsumu, but he won’t mind. But for now, he basked in this strange, new world, which was bigger and better than he thought it would be.

 _There’s a bright future waiting for us_ , his mother had said. He thought he could finally see it.

For the first time, he was looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any errors, it was hard for me to read through this so I barely edited it. I seriously didn't want to post this for the longest time, but I got hyped by all the Filo Week entries. I felt bad for letting it rot in my drafts, too.
> 
> When I say I had to dig deep into my childhood memories to create this, I meant it. Omi unfortunately just got projected to in the highest level. I didn't even realize how fucked up some of those were until I'm viewing them with adult eyes lmao. The exorcism...was not an isolated incident for my cousin. Anyway who needs therapy when you have fanfic...
> 
> This had all the elements of a Filipino film/teleserye AND I HATE MYSELF FOR IT. BYE


End file.
